Night Fever. Diana Palmer

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СКАЧАТЬ not to take insults from anyone. He was good with his fists, and he’d used them a few times over the years.

      As he grew older, he began to understand the proud old man a lot better. Sanderson Kilpatrick’s Irish grandfather had come to America penniless and his life had been one long series of disasters and tragedies. It had been the first-generation American, Tad, who’d opened the small specialty store that had become the beginning of the Kilpatrick convenience store chain. Sanderson had been one of only two surviving Kilpatrick children.

      And then Sanderson had learned that he was sterile. It had been a killing blow to his pride. But at least his brother’s only son had produced an heir—Rourke. The convenience store chain had slowly gone bankrupt. Uncle Sanderson had squirreled enough away to leave Rourke well-fixed, but the Kilpatrick name and generations of respect were about the sum total of his inheritance. And since Rourke was closemouthed, that family secret didn’t get much airing. He made a comfortable living and he knew how to invest it, but he was no millionaire. Uncle Sanderson’s Mercedes-Benz and the elegant old family brick mansion, both unencumbered by debt, were the only holdovers from a more prosperous past.

      Gus barked just before the doorbell rang. “Okay, hold your horses,” he said as he returned to the living room, his bare feet landing silently on the luxurious beige carpet.

      Kilpatrick opened the front door to Dan Berry, who grinned at him through the screen. “Hi, boss,” his investigator said cheerily, flashing him a smile. “Got a minute?”

      “Sure. Let me get Gus’s lead and we’ll walk and talk.” He glanced at the heavyset man. “A little exercise wouldn’t hurt you.”

      Dan made a face. “I was afraid you’d say that. How’s the headache?”

      “Better. Aspirin and cold compresses got rid of it.” He attached Gus to the lead and opened the door. Early mornings in the spring were cool, and Dan shivered. The trees still sported bare limbs that would be elegant bouquets of blossoms only a month or so from now.

      Kilpatrick moved out to the sidewalk, letting Gus take the lead. “What’s up?” he asked when they were halfway down the block.

      “Plenty. The sheriff’s office got a complaint this morning about Curry Station Elementary. One of the kids’ mothers called to report it. Her son saw one of the marijuana dealers having an argument with Bubba Harris at recess. It’s just been marijuana, so far—until now.”

      Kilpatrick stopped dead, his dark eyes intent. “Are the Harrises trying to cut in on that territory with crack?”

      “We think so,” Berry replied. “We don’t have anything, yet. But I’m going to work on some of the students and see what I can turn up. We’re organizing a locker search with the help of the local police, too. If we find crack, we’ll know who’s involved.”

      “That will go over big with the parents,” he murmured.

      “Yes, I know. But we’ll muddle through.” He glanced at Kilpatrick as they began to walk again. “That Cullen boy was seen with Son Harris at one of the dives in midtown Atlanta. They’re real thick.”

      Kilpatrick’s face stiffened. “So I’ve heard.”

      “I know you didn’t have enough evidence to go to trial,” Berry said. “But if I were you, I’d keep a close eye on that boy. He could lead us right to the Harrises, if we play our cards right.”

      Kilpatrick was thinking about that. His dark eyes narrowed. If he got close to Becky, he could keep Clay Cullen in sight with ease. Was that it, he wondered, or was he rationalizing ways to see Becky? He had to think this through carefully before he made a decision.

      “There’s another complication, too,” Berry went on, his hands in his pockets as he glanced up at Kilpatrick. “Your sparring partner’s getting ready to announce.”

      “Davis?” he asked, because he’d heard rumors, too. Davis hadn’t said anything in court to him about it. That was like the big man, to pull rabbits out of hats at the most unexpected time. He grinned. “He’ll win, unless I miss my guess. There are plenty of contenders for my job, but Davis is pure shark.”

      “He’ll be after your professional throat.”

      “Only to make news,” Kilpatrick assured him. “I haven’t decided yet about running for a third term.” He stretched and yawned. “Let him do his worst. I don’t give a damn.”

      “Want to round off your day?” Berry murmured with a dry glance. “One last tidbit of gossip. They’re releasing Harvey Blair on Monday.”

      “Blair.” He scowled. “Yes, I remember. I sent him up for armed robbery six years ago. What the hell’s he doing out?”

      “His lawyer got him a full pardon from the governor.” He held up his hand. “Don’t blame me. I don’t hide your mail. Your secretary is guilty as hell. She told me she forgot to mention it and you were too busy in court to read it.”

      He bit off a curse. “Blair. Dammit. If ever a man deserved a pardon less...he was guilty as hell!”

      “Of course he was.” Berry stopped walking, looking uncomfortable. “He threatened to kill you if he ever got out. You might keep your doors locked, just in case.”

      “I’m not afraid of Blair,” Kilpatrick said, and his eyes narrowed. “Let him try, if he feels lucky. He won’t be the first.”

      That was a fact. The D.A. had been the target of assassins twice, once from a gun by an angry defendant who’d been convicted by Kilpatrick’s expertise, and another time from a crazed defendant with a knife, right in court. Nobody present in the courtroom that day would ever forget the way Kilpatrick had met the knife attack. He had effortlessly parried the thrust and thrown his attacker over a table. Kilpatrick was ex-Special Forces, and as tough as they came. Berry secretly thought that his Indian ancestry didn’t hurt, either. Indians were formidable fighters. It was in the blood.

      Kilpatrick waved Dan off and he and Gus continued on their daily one-mile walk. He was fit enough, physically. He worked out at the gym weekly and played racquetball. The walk was more for Gus’s sake than his own. Gus was ten years old and he had a sedentary lifestyle. With Kilpatrick away at the office six days out of seven—and occasionally, when the calendar was loaded in court, seven out of seven—he didn’t get a lot of exercise in his fenced-in enclosure out back.

      He thought about what Dan had told him and grimaced. Blair was going to be back on the streets and gunning for him. That wasn’t surprising. Neither was the information about the Harris boys. A war over drug turf was just what he needed right now, with the Cullen boy in the middle. He remembered Cullen’s father—a surly, uncooperative man with cold eyes. Incredible, that he could have fathered a woman like Rebecca, with her warm heart and soft eyes. Even more incredible that he could have deserted her like that. He shook his dark head. One way or another, her life stood to get worse before it got better—especially with a brother like hers. He tugged at Gus’s lead and they turned back toward home.

      * * *

      It was midnight on Sunday, and Clay Cullen still wasn’t home. He and the Harris boys were talking money, big money, and he was in the clouds over how much he was going to make.

      “It’s easy,” Son told him carelessly. “All you have to do is give a little away to some of the wealthier kids. They’ll get СКАЧАТЬ