C.J. Carmichael - Seattle after Midnight

“Would you like a glass of wine with dinner? Or would you prefer a beer or water?”

Telling himself wine was too romantic, Pierce choose beer and was surprised when Georgia asked him to get her one from the fridge, as well.

Georgia spooned hearty beef stew into her pretty dishes. She prepared a quick salad and put it on the table with a basket of biscuits and a dish of soft butter.

“Looks good.” His comment could have applied equally to Georgia as it did to the meal. With her coloring—pink cheeks, blue eyes, golden hair—she didn’t need makeup or fancy clothes to sparkle. In blue jeans and a sweater the color of spring grass, she topped any runway model he’d ever seen.

“Tell me about South Dakota,” he said once they were both seated and eating. Some interesting African music was playing in the background. Georgia had kicked off her slippers and was sitting cross-legged on her chair. He felt much more relaxed than he’d expected.

“What can I say? I grew up on a farm. I can drive a tractor, operate an auger, bake bread from scratch. I liked living in the country, but from the day I toured the local country station with my sixth grade class I’ve known I wanted to work in radio.”

“Moving to Seattle must have been a big step.”

“It was. My parents were apprehensive, to say the least. They still are. But my view is that people are people, no matter where they live.”

That was true. But also not. To some extent living in a major city changed people. Living in a poor neighborhood rife with gangs, small-time criminals and prostitutes on every corner changed people, too.

“You disagree?” she said, reading his expression correctly.

“My experience is that people are influenced by their environment. Some more than others.”

“Did you grow up in Seattle?”

“New York City.” But he didn’t want to talk about that. “This stew is really good. What are these yellow vegetables? They don’t taste like potatoes.”

“Turnips,” she said, not taking her eyes off him. “When did you leave New York?”

“I was little more than a kid.” He’d been sixteen and he’d had a plan. He’d saved for a car and the day he qualified for his license, he’d driven off, not stopping until he reached the ocean.

“So tell me more about your life in South Dakota. Did you leave behind a sweetheart when you moved to Seattle?”

Georgia’s pink cheeks grew rosier. “How did you know?”

“Women like you always leave behind a sweetheart when they move to the big city. Was he a farmer?”

She laughed. “You know the script, don’t you? Craig’s family owns a dairy farm two miles from ours. We grew up together. He really is the nicest guy.”

“Do you think he’s still waiting for you?”

“I hope not. I told him our relationship was over. That I didn’t plan on ever coming back.”

Pierce heaped his spoon with stew, then paused, eyebrows raised. “Did he offer to move to Seattle with you?”

“Craig could never be happy anywhere but on the farm.”

She hadn’t answered the question. Did she miss her farmer more than she was willing to admit? To him her smile looked a little sad. “Are you sure you made the right decision? Maybe life in South Dakota had everything you really need. Everything you really want.”

Georgia set down her fork, then took a long drink from her beer. When she was done, she wiped her damp mouth with her napkin and fixed him with an uncompromising look. “What are you saying? That I don’t belong in a city like Seattle?”

“No—”

“I’ve got news for you. I’m good on the radio and I intend to have a syndicated program of my own one day. People all across America are going to listen to me and my show won’t be called Seattle after Midnight then, it’ll be Georgia after Midnight.”

Her passion surprised him. Then he thought about the siren who drew him to the radio every weeknight and realized he shouldn’t have been surprised at all.

“I never meant to question your talent.”

“What did you mean to question? You know, you’re a cynical man, Pierce Harding. I wonder what made you that way.” With her elbows on the table, she folded her hands together and rested her chin on the perch. Gazed at his hands. “I see you don’t wear a wedding band. Was it a nasty divorce that gave you this bleak view of the world?”

He blinked with surprise. Turned his head very slightly away from her.

“I’m not divorced.” He was suddenly very regretful that he hadn’t just driven off when he had the chance. “I’m a widower. My wife died two years ago.”

GEORGIA COULD HAVE kicked herself for being so thoughtless. “I’m sorry.” The apology sprang immediately to her lips. “How tragic. Was she ill?”

She guessed he didn’t want to talk about it. Pierce had sidestepped every one of her personal questions last night and today, too. But she felt it would be callous to just let his statement pass without comment.

“She was killed in a car accident.”

Pierce’s face settled into grim lines that made him look a good five years older than he had earlier that afternoon. That his emotions regarding his wife ran deep, Georgia had no doubt. But she suspected there was more than grief at play.

“I’m sorry,” she said again.

Pierce added nothing to that, and she used the pause in their conversation as an opportunity to clear the dishes. A few minutes later when she offered pie and coffee, she wasn’t surprised that Pierce declined.

He glanced at his watch. “I really should be getting to work.”

“Same surveillance job as last night?”

He nodded.

She watched him shrug into his leather jacket and put on his shoes. What was it like to have a job like his? She imagined sitting in a car late at night, alone, watching other people live their lives, witnessing the very worst that human behavior had to offer.

“Your work must be very lonely.”

“At times. On late-night surveillance jobs the hardest part is staying alert.”

Yes, she could see how that would be a challenge. “How do you keep from falling asleep?”

At first it seemed he wasn’t going to answer. He pulled his car keys from his jacket pocket. Stared at them for a moment as if he wasn’t sure what to do with them. Just before he left, he glanced over his shoulder at her.

“I listen to you,” he said. And then he was gone.

AS SOON AS he’d driven away from Georgia’s, Pierce powered on his cell phone and called Will Livingstone, currently working the afternoon shift on the Calder job. Pierce’s stint wasn’t scheduled to begin for another half hour. But he was sure Will wouldn’t object if he spelled him early.

“How’s it going, Will?”

“The lady went out shopping for a few hours this afternoon. The rest of the time she’s been in that room without any visitors that I can tell.” Will sounded mystified by this.

“Still no man on the scene?”

“Not that I can tell. I’m sorry, Pierce. We’re not coming up with any answers here.”

“This is a strange one, all right.”

Will yawned loudly. “You on your way?”

“Be there in fifteen.” Water splashed to the sidewalk as Pierce drove through a puddle in the middle of the road. He stopped at a red light where his eyes were drawn to a thirty-foot spruce tree across the street. The owners had strung colored lights about halfway around the tree, then given up. Must have run out of ladder or lights. Whatever the reason, the result looked ridiculous rather than festive. Waste of bloody electricity.

There was hardly any traffic and the rain had slowed to a drizzle. He drove as if on autopilot and tried not to think about the house he’d just left, the meal he’d eaten, the woman whose company he’d shared—and enjoyed. A smart man wouldn’t have turned back the way he had. After all, he’d made a clean getaway after installing the security system. Who cared if she used it? He’d done his part by putting it in. His conscience was clear.