Free Night Fever by Diana Palmer Page A

asked.
    Mack hesitated. “Not really.”
    â€œOh.” Clay wondered if he should pursue it, but he heard Becky’s footsteps and clammed up. “We’ll talk about it some other time. Don’t mention this to Becky.”
    Becky came in to find Mack glum and quiet and Clay looking nervous. She’d put on her blue jersey dress and her one pair of black patent leather high heels. She didn’t have a lot of clothes, but nobody at work mentioned that. They were a kind bunch of people, and she was neat and clean, even if she didn’t have the clothing budget that Maggie and Tess had.
    She touched her tidy bun and finished fixing Mack’s lunch just in time to get him on the bus, frowning a little when Clay didn’t join him.
    â€œHow are you getting to school?” she asked Clay.
    â€œFrancine’s coming for me,” he said carelessly. “She drives a Corvette. Neat car—brand-new.”
    She stared at him suspiciously. “Are you staying away from those Harris boys like I told you to?” she asked.
    â€œOf course,” he replied innocently. Much easier to lie than to have a fight. Besides, she never seemed to know when he was lying.
    She relaxed a little, even if she wasn’t wholly trusting of him these days. “And the counseling sessions?”
    He glared at her. “I don’t need counseling.”
    â€œI don’t care if you think you need it or not,” she said firmly. “Kilpatrick says you have to go.”
    He shifted uncomfortably. “Okay,” he said angrily. “I’ve got an appointment tomorrow with the psychologist. I’ll go.”
    She sighed. “Good. That’s good, Clay.”
    He narrowed his eyes and stared at her. “Just don’t throw any orders around, Becky. I’m a man, not a boy you can tell what to do.”
    Before she could flare up at him, he went out the door in time to see the Corvette roar up. He got into it quickly and it sped off into the distance.
    A few days later, Becky called the principal of Clay’s school to make sure he had been going. She was told that he had perfect attendance. He kept the counseling session, too, although Becky didn’t know that he ignored his psychologist’s advice. It had been three weeks since his arrest and he was apparently toeing the line. Thank God. She settled grandpa and went to work, her thoughts full of Kilpatrick.
    She hadn’t run into him in the elevator lately. She wondered if he might have moved back to the courthouse until she glimpsed him at a dead run when she was on her way to lunch. Curious the way he moved, she thought wistfully, light on his feet and graceful as well. She loved to watch him move.
    Kilpatrick was unaware of her studied scrutiny as he retrieved the blue Mercedes from the parking lot and drove himself to the garage that the elder Harris, C.T. by name, ran as a front for his drug operation. Everybody knew it, but proving it was the thing.
    Harris was sixty, balding, and he had a beer belly. He never shaved. He had deep circles under his eyes and a big, perpetually red nose. He glared at Kilpatrick as the younger, taller man climbed out of his car at the curb.
    â€œThe big man himself,” Harris said with a surly grin. “Looking for something, prosecutor?”
    â€œI wouldn’t find it,” Kilpatrick said. He paused in front of Harris and lit a cigar with slow, deliberate movements of his long fingers. “I’ve had my investigator checking out some rumors that I didn’t like. What he came up with, I didn’t like even more. So I thought I’d come and check it out personally.”
    â€œWhat kind of rumors?”
    â€œThat you and Morrely are squaring off for a fight over territory. And that you’re moving on the kids at the local elementary school.”
    â€œWho, me? Garbage! It’s garbage,” Harris said with mock indignation. “I don’t push to