Diana Palmer - Night Fever

True love or blind justice. Only she can decide.

Coworkers, acquaintances and former lovers know Rourke Kilpatrick as a dashing district attorney who doesn’t let emotions get in his way. If he breaks a heart or bends the law to prosecute a criminal, he does so without apology. That’s why he is the first person twenty-four-year-old Rebecca Cullen calls for advice when the younger brother she’s been forced to raise by herself gets arrested on trumped-up drug charges.

To her surprise, Rourke returns her call, and displays a sympathy that seems totally at odds with his reputation. One night, their lips finally meet, and all Rebecca wants is to feel Rourke’s arms around her—forever. But is she the one woman to break through Rourke’s protective barriers, or is the man she’s falling in love with just using her to investigate a crime? Does Rebecca dare trust someone who has the power to destroy her family…and break her heart?

Praise for New York Times bestselling author

“Palmer demonstrates, yet again, why she’s the queen of desperado quests for justice and true love.”

—Publishers Weekly on Dangerous

“The popular Palmer has penned another winning novel, a perfect blend of romance and suspense.”

—Booklist on Lawman

“The dialogue is charming, the characters likable and the sex sizzling.”

—Publishers Weekly on Once in Paris

“Sensual and suspenseful.”

—Booklist on Lawless

“Diana Palmer is a mesmerizing storyteller who captures the essence of what a romance should be.”

—Affaire de Coeur

“Nobody tops Diana Palmer when it comes to delivering pure, undiluted romance. I love her stories.”

—New York Times bestselling author Jayne Ann Krentz

Night Fever

Diana Palmer

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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To Linda

Dear Reader,

I wrote Night Fever back in 1990, when my memories of working in law offices were a little more recent than they are now. I had the opportunity to do revisions, but elected not to, since the law has changed so much in these many years.

I have a great respect for the law and its enforcement. My great-grandfather was a U.S. Marshal who was shot and killed in the line of duty. Two of my great-uncles were peace officers, and I have in-laws and friends today who work for various law enforcement agencies.

I am very proud of the justice system in my small north Georgia county, and I salute the judges and district attorneys and defense attorneys, the state, county and local police officers and sheriff’s personnel, the parole and probation officers, and the other law enforcement personnel who keep us all safe and dispense justice fairly.

In this book there is an African-American defense attorney who has a link to Atlanta. This character is my way of paying tribute to my favorite mayor, Maynard Jackson. When I was a very small-time young reporter, I wrote him a letter in which I expressed my admiration for his courage and sense of civic duty—and then as a postscript asked about his solid waste management plan, because I was doing a series of articles on the subject for my paper. He had the head of his department call me on the phone the day he received the letter. That’s the sort of person he was. It made me very proud that they gave his name to the airport. He was, like the other fine mayors of that great city, a very special sort of politician. The character in my book is pure fiction, but he salutes a person I greatly admired.

I hope you enjoy Night Fever.

Love,

Diana Palmer

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter One

1990. The elevator was crowded. Rebecca Cullen was trying to balance three cups in a box without spilling coffee all over the floor. Maybe if she learned to do this really well, she thought, she could join a circus and go on stage with her performance. The lids on the foam cups weren’t secure—as usual. The man who worked the counter at the small drugstore downstairs didn’t look twice at women like Rebecca, and who cared if coffee spilled all over a thin, nondescript woman in an out-of-style gray suit?

He probably figured her for Ms. Businesswoman, she thought—some rabid man-hater with a string of degrees after her name and a career in place of a husband and kids. Wouldn’t he be shocked to see her at home on Granddad’s farm, in cutoff jeans and a tank top in summer, which this wasn’t, with her mass of gold-streaked light brown hair down to her waist, and barefoot? This suit was pure camouflage.

Becky was a country girl, and the sole support of her retired grandfather and her two younger brothers. Their mother had died when she was sixteen and their father only stopped in to visit when he was broke and needed money. He’d moved to Alabama a couple of years back and none of them had heard from him since. Becky didn’t care if she never did again. She had a good job. In fact, the law firm’s recent relocation to Curry Station worked to her favor because her office in the industrial complex right outside Atlanta was now only a short drive from Granddad’s farm where they all lived. It was just like coming home, because her people had lived in Curry County for more than a hundred years.

She didn’t have a complaint about her job, except that she wished her bosses would remember to buy a new coffee urn before much longer. This several-times-daily trip down to the drugstore snack counter was getting to be a grind. There were three other secretaries, a receptionist, and two paralegals in the office, but they had seniority. Becky got to do the mule work. She grimaced as she headed for the elevator, hoping she wouldn’t run into her nemesis on the way up to the sixth floor.

Her hazel eyes scanned the area quickly. She relaxed as soon as she was able to conclude that the towering figure was not waiting around the elevators. It wasn’t bad enough that he had a stare like black ice, or that he seemed to hate women in general and her in particular. But he also smoked those god-awful thin black cigars. In an elevator, they were pure hell. She wished somebody would tell him that there was a city ordinance against smoking in crowded public places. She meant to, but there always seemed to be a crowd around, and for all Becky’s toughness of spirit, she was shy in crowds. But one day it would be just her and that man, and she’d tell him how she felt about his extremely smelly cigars.

Her mind drifted as she waited for the slow-moving elevator to descend. She had worse problems than the cigar man, she reminded herself. Granddad was still recovering from the heart attack two months ago that had brought his career as a farmer to an abrupt halt. Now Becky was feeling the increased burden keenly. Unless she could learn to run the tractor and grow crops, in addition to working as a legal secretary six days a week, Granddad’s truck farm was destined to be a total loss. Her oldest brother, Clay, was a senior in high school, constantly in trouble these days, and no help at all around the house. Mack was in the fifth grade and failing math. He was a willing helper, but too small to do much. Becky herself was twenty-four, and she’d never had a social life at all. She’d just barely finished school when her mom had died and her father had taken off for parts unknown.