Midnight Victories Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  About the Author

  Shadows of Reign

  Midnight Whispers

  L.K. Latham

  Copyright © 2000 L.K. Latham

  All rights reserved.

  For my sweetheart of a husband who said, “Go for it.”

  Edited by: James Goolsby

  Cover image by: Natalie Narbonne - https://www.originalbookcoverdesigns.com/

  CHAPTER ONE

  On a street in front of a house with a tree near the corner where the stop sign lies on the ground sits a car. The motor is running, lights and radio on, door open. There is no one on the street. The lights in the houses are dim and few. A dog barks at a seagull scavenging an overturned trash can. Lightning over the Gulf is too far away for anyone to care. If no one is around to hear the late-night DJ, does anyone listen?

  Victory has a price,

  though she stands tall and proud.

  In silent condescension, she offers you the laurel.

  But the vines of time have wrapped her sword

  and no one seems to notice.

  Who can meet that gaze and not hear the battle drums?

  The shadows lengthen before the dawn,

  but you know this song.

  I’m Mary Midnight. You’re at KMND Galveston.

  Somewhere between night and day, the players take their sides.

  And Victory stands, waiting.

  ***

  “Kiss my ass!” Avery slammed the door behind her. Glass beakers rattled. One teetered precariously close to the edge of the shelf.

  “Bitch,” snorted Dr. Milton Keats as he bent over his microscope.

  John looked at Keats and rubbed his head, a headache forming behind his eyes. He fought the urge to punch Keats and followed Avery into the corridor. He watched her long, lean figure as the elevator doors opened for her as though she entered the elevator everyday at this time. He lifted his arm to signal her to wait, but the darts flinging grin her eyes stopped him from calling to her.

  John felt her electric wrath in the elevator when it returned for him. He hurried but tried not to look like he hurried out the lobby the joined the towers of Sealy Hall. As the sliding glass doors closed behind him, he halted. With a swoosh and hot, humid air sprinkled with stale tobacco, sweat, and salt pushed against him. After deep breath, he moved toward the parking garage past the driveway and around a small artificial hill with five oaks, walking as fast as the heat allowed. It was too hot to hurry.

  Avery stood next to the Coke machine by the garage elevator. She held her phone in her hand as though timing how long it took John to catch up to her. She smirked when she saw him and leaned close to the Coke machine, as though expecting the coolness of the inside to flow out to her.

  “Avery.”

  Beads of sweat formed at his temples by the time he reached the shade of the garage. He loosened his tie, a habit he picked up since arriving in Galveston. He discouraged sloppiness. An officer must always set the example, but the Gulf Coast summer was winning its battle with etiquette. It was late June, and only going to get hotter.

  He took a minute to compose himself, rubbing his eyes. Avery leaned into the red glow of the Coke machine, giving her skin an inhuman radiance. Avery stepped back and searched her pockets.

  “Don’t you ever sweat?” he asked.

  “It’s not hot enough to sweat, yet. Give me a quarter.”

  Her voice still had that edge. He found a quarter in his pocket and gave it to her.

  “I’m sorry...”

  “Don’t you apologize for that jackass! I’ve had enough of his crap. You can find someone else to coordinate your project. I’m sure if you look hard enough you’ll unearth some dweeb who can blow the way he wants.”

  “It’s not that simple.” He lowered his voice. “Security is tight on this project. I set up a system—”

  “Fuck the system.” She punched the Coke button. Crack! “Pardon my French, but I’ve had it. Maybe you have to work with Dr. Kiss-my-ass, but I don’t. I’ve done all I can to make your job a little easier. No more. It’s bad enough working at keeping his hands off me without his ogling every woman I send in there. I’ve worked with these women a long time. They trust me. I’m not putting them where they’ll be groped and drooled over. It’s up to you, now. I’m out of here.”

  He leaned against the brick wall of the elevator shaft and closed his eyes. She was right; contesting the point was useless. They both knew Avery couldn’t quit. She signed the contract and security required no substitutions of staff, but she could raise attention to a classified project. As chief of security for the project, he could not let that happen, even if she objections were justified.

  “Things are changing. I need to increase security. At least one guard in each lab at all times?”

  “Do they understand what they’re guarding?”

  “They’re good people.” John’s voice became stern. “I handpicked this team. They’re good at what they do.”

  “I’ll protect my people, making a formal complaint if I have to.”

  She lifted her Coke can for a long swallow. She looked like a movie star in a commercial. John expected music to fill the garage and dancers to leap down the stairs in unison.

  He could see her calming down, but her eyes still burned. “It’s late. I’m going home.”

  He remained leaning against the wall, trying to absorb the coolness of the brown brick. She glided effortlessly into the stairwell, led by the stride of her long legs, the rest of her body following, swaying gently left then right. He sighed.

  She stopped before disappearing into the stairwell and turned back to him. “Dinner’s at eight. Clara will want you there early.”

  She moved out of sight as she wound her way up the stairwell.

  John felt his face redden. Whenever Avery decided a conversation was over, she brought up Clara — the one topic John never took in stride. No one bested John. In over twenty years of service, his sharp manner and ability to take control of any situation made him superior to his peers and gained him the reputation as the one man for tough and delicate missions. This assignment, however, challenged his skills and imagination to their limits. And now he had a weakness—one which Avery exploited with ease, sometimes shamelessly.

  Thinking of Clara, John relaxed, despite his intentions. He pictured Clara sitting at Avery’s desk. It was early May, John had been in Galveston only a few days when he walked into Avery’s office and saw Clara sitting at the desk. She leaned back in the chair, her bare legs relaxing on the desk as she glanced through the stacks of papers, a violation of security, but before he could speak she looked up and smiled.

  “Why you must be Colonel Espinoza. Avery’s told me all about you. She said you might come by. Here’s the report you’re looking for. She didn’t say you were a looker.”

  “You shouldn’t be in here without a clearance pass.”

  “Oh, that’s okay. I’m not staying. Besides, I’m the closest thing to family Avery’s got. And if you can’t trust your family, what’s the point? There’s nothing on this desk that I don’t already know about anyway.” She laughed at the stare he gave her. “This is a small island. You don’t think secrets aren’t buzzing around here all the time, do you?”

  He could not speak.

  “I’m being rude.” Standing up, she reached for his hand. “Clara Lucas. Avery and I have been best friends since high school, and now we’re housemates. I just came by to pick her up. You ought to come around to the house tonight. You’re from the Midwest or something like that, aren’t you? Well, nobody’s perfect. Come to dinner. Dinner on the beach is the best way to beat the summer heat. Daddy’s bringing over some shrimp tonight. Mamma called to say he docked this morning with a good catch. There’ll be plenty. We’ll eat about eight, but you can come out early if you’d like. I’d like.”

  She looked past him and walked out the door without waiting for a reply. “Well, speak of the devil. Here she is. I’m sure Avery will be tickled that you’re coming to dinner.”

  That night he went to Avery’s house for dinner. He stayed for breakfast. In a few hours, Clara dispelled his preconceived notions of a good woman. All men fantasized what it would be like with a woman like Avery; she was statuesque, beautiful, and had an otherworldly quality that enticed fantasy. Clara was different. Her short-sleeved shirts exposed muscles formed from dealing with animals at her veterinarian clinic. Her mousy hair curled about her head with as much energy as her eyes contained. But her expression was genuine and her air sincere. She captivated anyone she set her mind to.

  He discovered that the energy Clara demonstrated in their first meeting did not diminish in the evening. She moved from kitchen to living room to beach without missing a detail of the conversations. It was easy to see why she and Avery were friends. While Clara did everything enthusiastically, Avery was mellow and flowed along with what was happening. At some point Avery went to bed, leaving him alone to help Clara wash the dishes. Now he spent all his free nights with Clara, keeping the apartment the government billeted him in for the nights he worked late.

  A reminder beeped on his phone: Four o’clock. He straightened his
tie and turned back to the towers. Sergeant Harris walked to the entrance from the cafeteria. The sweat glistened on his dark, brown skin, but the faint shades of gray lining the rim of his cap were cool and as straight as the seams on his shirt.

  “Sergeant.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Find Lieutenant Davis and Sergeant Granton. I want you both in my office in half an hour.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  ***

  It was seven-thirty before the meeting wrapped up. John quickly made his way to the garage and his Indian Chief motorcycle: His great escape. He traveled with it to all his stateside assignments and even his overseas assignments if he was there for more than a few weeks. When he wasn’t at work, he was on his motorcycle. He moved toward someplace else — anyplace other than where he was. He liked to take the back roads once past 25th Street. Victory stood there at the intersection with Broadway where he turned off the main drag. She towered above him and the trees of the boulevard waving her laurel crown in testimony to heroes of the past, inviting viewers to prove their worthiness and pass beyond.

  When the stoplight turned red, he lifted the visor of his helmet and studied her countenance. Her face was the calm before the storm. She looked both at him and through him, never wavering, ever seeking a victor to crown. He thought it was sad that a vine twisted its way up her massive sword, testifying to the battles not fought for duty or glory or patriotism or faith. How would she classify his current battle? The light changed, and he continued his journey.

  He planned for a quick meeting. Everyone agreed Keats needed monitoring. It was the diplomatic solution. Time to enhance security anyway. The project was Keats’s, but his flagrant arrogance and despotic demeanor endeared him to few of the people involved with the project. His fellow scientists tolerated him, but only out of respect for his genius. Before the meeting finished, John received word from Command that the schedule was changing. The “package” would arrive within twenty-four hours. That meant reviewing all security measures, inspecting the facilities again, and finally calling his old friend to find out why the schedule changed. At least Keats would leave for Los Angeles in a few hours to oversee the transfer of his project.

  John tried not to think of the project as he dodged the mounting number of tourists puttering along the Seawall. He tried to forget the package and the consequences if he failed to secure it. Death or worse? He set the security protocols; no need to review them again. Still, nothing was ever absolutely secure. His military career had not prepared him for this assignment. Nothing could have. He told himself not to worry tonight. Why had the transfer been moved up? He would call Colonel Dietrich in the morning to find out what he could. They had gone to West Point together and remained friends. He was almost as thorough as John. Tonight, he reminded himself, held no responsibilities.

  It took almost forty-five minutes to reach the house. The number of tourists on the beachfront increased as the days of summer lingered longer and longer. Clara said tourist traffic was the only disagreeable part to living on the west end of the island. She never mentioned hurricanes. Ike had done its damage to Galveston, but Avery’s tall house on stilts had withstood the storm surge and winds. He pulled up to the house and saw the three pickups and the VW van that carried various members of Clara’s family. There were three Harley motorcycles parked at the house, too. He studied them for a moment then he remembered that Clara’s brother, Jacob, was due back from Louisiana today. Tonight, they celebrated his return from that state’s penal system.

  Before John could remove his helmet, Paw Paw Joe yelled, “Hey, Colonel! I was thinkin’ maybe you wouldn’t be able to make it tonight.”

  Huge mounds of crawfish were piled on the picnic table. Grandchildren climbed over Paw Paw’s large, round self.

  Paw Paw wiped his yellow fingers on his pants and motioned John to join them. “It’s good stuff. Jacob brought it in fresh from Loosiana.”

  “Uncle Jacob was in jail,” giggled one of the grandchildren.

  “He was takin’ a vacation,” retorted Maw Maw. “You better go on up and change, John. I don’t want you gettin’ anythin’ on your pretty clothes. Clara’s in the kitchen.”

  John waved at Clara’s brothers and their friends standing around the crawfish boiler on the beach. Under the house her sisters-in-law balanced food and children. After three turns of stairs, he arrived on the main living level. The south wall of the house, all windows, filled the house with the last light of the day as the sun began to set over the Gulf. A large deck extended the living area toward the open water. The doors opened to the gulf breeze, which flooded the house. He took in the view, breathing in the salty air. The sky slowly darkened, and the colors of the night transformed the scene with every minute. Far on the horizon, rain clouds mixed with the light to color the sky, arranging the reds and yellows of evening into ever-deepening shades of night. The breeze soothed his head, cooling the stale, muggy air of the afternoon. Perhaps it was worth the commute time to live out here on the beach.

  “Hey, sweetheart, glad you made it.”

  Clara walked past him with a tray full of hot rolls, butter, and honey. Though she stood on her toes, he still had to bend low to kiss her. She never asked about his work, but the disappointment on her face at his lateness was evident.

  “Something came up.”

  “We’re just getting started. Come on down when you’ve changed. You ever had crawfish? Ooooh, sweetheart, you don’t know what you’re missing! Avery, don’t forget to take your blood pill,” she said over her shoulder. “You didn’t take it this morning. I saw you walk right past it and your breakfast. If you make yourself sick, don’t come looking to me to take care of you.”

  She continued down the stairs without waiting for an answer.

  “Never known her to wait for any man.”

  John had not noticed Avery in the kitchen. She was arranging a platter with hot dogs.

  “Avery! These child’en are gettin’ hungry,” shouted Maw Maw from below.

  “Coming!” she yelled back. “Made hot dogs for the little ones. They think crawfish look too much like roaches. I can set one or two of these aside if you’re not feeling very adventurous.”

  She gave him her mischievous smile and took the platter down the stairs. He was becoming part of this family, and it pleased him.

  ***

  Captain Christian Black whistled as he walked down to the parking lot of the hotel. The hotel opened to Seawall Boulevard, giving him a view of the Gulf of Mexico from his window. Of all the places to be billeted, this was one of the nicest. He stopped once to tuck his iPad into the outside pocket of his small briefcase and pull out the keys to the rental car. As he reached the car, conveniently parked near the street, he waved at Lieutenant David Davis as he jogged his way into the parking lot.

  “DD! What’s up? Why are you out running at this ungodly hour of the morning?”

  “Morning, Capt’n.” Davis was always glad to talk to anyone who wanted to talk, and Captain Black more often than than other officers understood Davis. “Don’t want to get soft and flabby.”

  “You say it like it’s a bad thing,” laughed Black. “Six months and I’m a full-time civilian. It’s about time I started filling out. The wife says nobody trusts an accountant who looks too fit. ‘Powerful men,’ she says, ‘are always chubby because they can afford to be.’ Never a good thing to argue with the wife.”

  He patted his slowly enlarging stomach.

  “You’ll regret it. Once you put the weight on, it doesn’t want to come off. Before the army, I was a good fifty pounds heavier. Now, I’m in good shape. And if you haven’t noticed, this island is full of skinny little asses just looking for a good-looking man in a uniform.”

  Davis jokingly flexed his right biceps.

  “Hooah!” joked Black. “But still doesn’t explain why you’re out here so early. Heard Sergeant Gaskin saying he runs PT with his men around dawn. Why not go with them?”

  “Colonel doesn’t like it. Says I need to set the example. Besides, he says too many of those bikinis I was looking at were jailbait. And I’ll be damned if he’s not right. Just lost the butter bars, so probably best to listen and concentrate on keeping the silver bar. Besides, with things heating up, our schedules will be hell. Getting in the PT while I can.”