ANOTHER SUNNY DAY (24 page)

"I'll be filming this special for a few more days, then I've got a couple of weeks off before I go to Houston for their Livestock Show and Rodeo. Are you going to be there this year?"

"No," she answered simply. "But will you do me a favor and tell Sarah hello for me? Tell her I'm doing just fine, and I'll try to get down there to see her if Mack will just find me a job in that area."

He agreed, and after a few more minutes of easy conversation and another glass of wine, they left the restaurant and drove in thoughtful silence back to the lot where her tour bus was parked. It wasn't until he walked her to the door that they began to feel a little uncomfortable with each other. She wanted to invite him in for a cup of coffee, but she knew that the bus would be leaving in less than an hour. She didn't understand this instant camaraderie she had with him. And there was something more between them—an undeniable sexual attraction that had smoldered all evening. Whenever their eyes had met or his knee had pressed against hers under the table, or his hand had brushed hers, fresh waves of desire had rippled through her body.

But she was afraid. She had already given him more of herself than usual by letting him into her confidence. Normally she would have been embarrassed by the secrets she had told him, but she had sensed that he really cared, so it had just poured out of her. As much as she would have liked him to stay with her tonight, she knew that the timing was not right.

Dillon read the dilemma in her expressive eyes and tried to ignore the physical hunger for her that increased with every moment they were together.

"I really enjoyed being with you today," he said at last, his voice husky.

"Yes, it's been wonderful and I want to thank you again for helping me get through that commercial."

''I'll give Sarah your message." He walked a couple of steps away before he was compelled to stop and look back one more time. Sunny still stood in the doorway of the bus, the light from its interior silhouetting her shapely body and turning her hair to sparkling gold. She lifted her hand and called a soft good night to him as he returned her wave, turned once again and strode to his car.

AFTER MIDNIGHT

A Suspense Novel

By Kathy Clark

Published November, 2012

CHAPTER 1

PLAYBOY
Magazine once called Colfax “
the longest, wickedest street in America
”.  But to anyone who knew it, that’s what made it interesting.

Colfax had originally been the main road through Denver and stretched from the eastern plains to the Rocky Mountain foothills.  In the shadow of the spectacular state capitol’s golden dome, businesses thrived, some legitimate, but most not.  Populated by prostitutes, dealers, artists and certifiable crazies, several blocks were part of District 6, fondly known as District Shit because of its concentration of degenerates and crime.

For the last five years Sam Morgan had called that section of Colfax Home.  Not as a resident but as a police officer on the night shift.  The clock started at 11 p.m., but the fun didn’t begin until after midnight.  After the Phantom had left the Opera.  After the Black Crowes had flown the Fillmore.  And after someone had the last laugh at Comedy Works.   As the entertainment venues emptied, the streets and the bars filled, mixing yuppies, coeds and players.  LoDo, the rejuvenated Lower Downtown area with its cozy sports bars and upscale clubs attracted the cream.  Colfax welcomed the rest without bias or prejudice.  You didn’t have to have a job or money or nice clothes or even shoes to fit in.  Especially on a warm summer night like tonight.

Sam made his usual loops through the area, passing through neighborhoods of stately mansions that struggled to retain their dignity just blocks from low income housing and run-down apartment buildings.  With the windows down on the patrol car, Sam could stop and chat with the local kids or call out to a dealer he’d busted a half dozen times in the past.  He knew them and they knew him.  It was an oddly effective way to be visible without being aggressive.

Music, laughter and streams of conversation flowed into the car as he drove along, competing with the constant chatter on the police band radio.  It was starting out like a typical Saturday night, with one exception.

Sam slid a sideways glance at the man sitting in the passenger’s seat. 
Ridealongs could be a blessing or a curse.  Most cops dreaded having strangers tag along.  Other than the challenge of dealing with an unknown personality…dull, dumb, chatty or flirtatious that bordered on stalking…there was the possibility of added danger, both to the ridealong and the cop.  In a crisis, the last thing a cop wanted was to have another civilian in the mix. 

But Sam didn’t mind.  With only one officer per patrol car, having someone to talk to on quiet nights made the time pass more quickly.  Usually. 

Oh, the guy had asked all the normal questions.  “How long have you been a cop?”  “Is this what you always wanted to be?”  “What kind of gun do you carry?”   “Have you ever shot anyone?”  Then the conversation ended.  Sam had tried to make small talk, but after the first hour, he gave up and, at times, almost forgot he had a passenger.  Truth was…his passenger was completely forgettable.

Average height, average weight, short reddish-blond hair, the man was so unremarkable that Sam, even with his keen observational skills, would have had trouble picking the man out of a crowd of two.  Sam slid a sideways glance at the man and mentally noted…gray Broncos hoodie, jeans that were faded by age, not fashion and a green camouflage t-shirt.  Blue eyes, short, chewed nails, holes in his earlobes indicating he had, at some point, worn ear metal.  Completely nondescript, almost like he was trying to be invisible.

He sat stiffly in his seat, his attention focused outside the car except when he looked at his watch for at least the tenth time in the last hour. 

“Hey, we can swing by the station,” Sam offered.  “I can drop you off if you need to…go somewhere or do something else.”  The guy was starting to be annoying. 

“Oh no, I’m fine.  Just wondered what time it is.” 

“How about a break?”

“Sure.  Sounds good,” the ridealong answered with the first burst of enthusiasm he had shown all night.

Maybe he just was tired of riding around in a car for so long or maybe he had to hit the john and was embarrassed to ask.  Cops were used to spending a lot of time in their rolling offices, but now, in the lull between midnight and the 2:00 a.m. witching hour when the bars closed and the drunks staggered out to the streets to find other entertainment, it was a good time to grab a sandwich.  Sam picked up the microphone, switched from the main to the car-to-car frequency and pressed the button.  “Hey, Larry.  Ready for coffee?

“I thought you’d never ask,” a raspy voice responded over the radio.

“We’re heading to Tom’s.”

“Be there in ten.”

Sam replaced the microphone on its hook, and turned west onto Colfax.  Not coincidentally, they were only a few blocks from Tom’s 24 Hour Diner.  Strong coffee and homemade pie had made it a favorite cop hangout for years, and he and his old partner, Larry, usually timed their patrols to be in the area at about the same time every night.

They rolled along, passing buildings decorated with splashes of graffiti and protected by wrought iron bars on the windows and doors.  Most parts of the city were already asleep, but Colfax stayed up late.  People of all ages, genders (not limited to just male or female) and eras, from old hippies with scraggly beards and tie-dyed shirts to young goths with pitch black hair and more eyeliner than Lady GaGa drifted in and out of the tattoo parlors, quaint bookstores and musty record stores that doubled as head shops.  Businesses of all kinds thrived on the heartbeat of Denver’s dark side.  Oddly, the only places not opened on Colfax after midnight were the churches.

The
ridealong straightened in his seat and pointed to a man and woman standing on the sidewalk.              “Hey, look at that.  Is that a hooker?”  For the first time all evening, the man looked directly at Sam.  With just a hint of a challenge, he asked, “Are you going to arrest her?”

Sam looked back at the hooker and sighed.  Arresting her was the last thing he wanted to do.

Maybe it was soft glow from the corner street lights that washed the harshness of street-life off her surprisingly pretty face.  Or it could have been the black leather mini skirt that accented long, bare legs.  Or the sparkly blue tube top clinging to her curves and revealing a view of generous cleavage. Or possibly, it was the audacity of a hooker hanging out less than a block from Tom’s.  Whatever, even before the ridealong had pointed her out, Sam had already noticed the stunning blonde standing near the curb in front of a boarded-up building. 

Yes, prostitution was illegal, but on a scale of one to ten, on Colfax it was about a two.  Unless there was a sting or a fight or a complaint, most cops usually looked the other way.  There were bigger dragons to slay.  But the
ridealong created a dilemma of sorts.  The good citizens of Denver had certain expectations, and with the spotlight on Sam, he had to, at least, put up a show of lawful compliance. 

He angled the patrol car to the curb and stopped so that his headlights bathed the woman in light.  Sam had no intention of running her in, but it wouldn’t hurt at least talk to her to keep up the department’s image…and to find out what the hell someone who looked like that was doing in a place like this.

Sam put on his hat and adjusted his utility belt as he stepped out of the patrol car.  

“Can I get out?”  The
ridealong’s eyes were bright with excitement.

Sam shrugged.  “Sure, just don’t get in the way.”  He took a step up onto the curb and started to walk toward the hooker.  “Good evening, miss.  Can I see your identification?”

“She ain’t doing nothin’ wrong.”  A young black man standing in the deep shadows behind her took a step forward into the pool of light.  Dressed in the street uniform of baggy, low hung jeans and sleeveless Nuggets jersey, the man’s sudden appearance was as disturbing as his aggressive attitude. 

“I didn’t say she was.”  Sam’s hand automatically moved up to his holster and unsnapped the strap as he forced his attention from the dazzling display of warm female flesh to focus on the man who was obviously her pimp.  “I just wanted to ask her a few questions.” 

“She don’t talk to no cops.”

Sam looked back at the woman, searching for any signs from her that she needed help or wanted to say something about her situation.  Instead, her steady gaze met his, and he noticed an amused twinkle in her wide turquoise colored eyes.  “Are you okay,
miss?” he asked.

She shrugged one pale bare shoulder suggestively.  “Don’t I look okay?”  She tilted her head and her long blonde hair spilled provocatively down over the generous curve of her breast. 

Better than okay.  But Sam suspected that even if he was so inclined, he couldn’t afford her.  He glanced back at the ridealong who had gotten out of the patrol car but hung back behind the protection of its open door, watching the scene with interest.   A car door slammed, and Sam noticed another patrol car had parked nearby.  He smiled and nodded at the police officer who had just exited his cruiser and was walking toward them.             

“Need any help?”  What Officer Larry
Resnick lacked in height, he made up for in width.  Short, stocky and all muscle, he’d been on the force for almost thirty years, most on the night shift by choice.  He hooked his thumbs on his gun belt and rocked back and forth on his heels as he observed the confrontation with wry humor.

“Nah, let’s go.”  Sam turned to leave, but he couldn’t resist a last glance back at the woman.  She smiled at him and winked.  Sam’s steps faltered, and he was tempted to arrest her…just to get her off the streets and away from someone else’s dick.  He shook his head and would have stepped away, but a movement jerked his attention back to the young man at her side.

The pimp’s dark eyes had narrowed to piercing slits, his gaze focused on Larry with a fierceness that was palpable.

The air crackled with a sudden surge of tension as powerful as a bolt of lightning.  A large pistol appeared in the pimp’s hand while his other arm snaked around the hooker’s waist and jerked her against him.  “Fuck you, Pig,” the young man growled at Larry.  The woman’s startled screams mingled with the blast from the semi-automatic’s barrel.