White Hot (22 page)

“Last Sunday?” She checked her wristwatch, cursed beneath her breath, and sat upright.

“You remember. When I went over to your house.”

“Lord, I bet I’m a sight.” Hastily she straightened her dress and searched the rumpled quilt for her underpants. “If George is home when I get there—”

“He won’t be,” Chris said, trying to curb his impatience. “He’s busy. He’ll be at the foundry for hours yet.”

“But he might come home unexpectedly.” Finding her underwear, she stood up and stepped into them, then bent down to retrieve her hat. “He’s been acting weird lately. Watching me. I think he suspects something.”

“That’s your imagination.”

“At first, I thought so, too. But the other night after we got home from the wake, he asked me where I’d disappeared to.”

He chucked her beneath the chin. “Bet you didn’t tell him.”

She wasn’t amused. “I’ve been all lovey-dovey ever since, to try and throw him off track, but I’m not sure he’s convinced. He talks about you a lot and watches me when he thinks I don’t know he’s watching.”

In light of his recent conversation with George, Chris wondered if she was right. But if George suspected them of having an affair, so what? He didn’t really care if her husband knew. Right now he was interested only in Lila’s cooperation should it be needed.

He followed her as she made her way up the incline to where she’d left her car. She tossed her hat into the backseat and opened the passenger door.

“Hold it.” He turned her around and drew her close. “No good-bye?”

“I haven’t got time, Chris.”

“Are you sure?” he growled, nuzzling her ear.

She pushed him away, playfully, but meaning business. “I’m supposed to be waiting for my doting husband to get home from a hard day at work. You’ll have to find some other girl to take care of this.” She squeezed him playfully, quickly.

“I don’t want another girl.” He pushed his thigh between hers and rubbed it against her crotch. “I want a woman. You, Lila. And you want me, too, because I know how to make you happy.”

It wasn’t very graceful screwing. It certainly wasn’t comfortable. But he gave her another orgasm, which was all that mattered with Lila. When he finally released her, she was panting and her eyes were glazed.

Now was the time to ask, he thought. “If I ever need you, you’ll be there for me, won’t you, Lila?”

“I’ll try.” She was attempting to straighten her dress, but the lightweight fabric was clinging to her sweaty skin. “Sometimes it’s hard for me to get away on short notice.”

“I don’t mean just for sex. What if I really needed you?”

She pulled back and looked at him with misapprehension. “Needed me? Like for what?”

He smoothed his hands down her arms, a tender, affectionate caress. “Like, if your uncle Red asked you whether or not I was at your house last Sunday afternoon, you’d admit that I was, wouldn’t you?”

Her eyes cleared instantly, as though someone had thrown cold water in her face. She no longer looked drowsily satiated. In fact, she had never looked more alert. “Why would Uncle Red ask me something like that? Oh, Christ, George does know.”

“No, no, this has nothing to do with George.” He held her shoulders, massaging them gently. “It’s about me. Us. I’m trying to get a divorce, Lila. When I do, I want to talk to you about the future. Our future.

“I know it’s too soon to ask you for a commitment. Especially with this mess about Danny hanging over my head. But that will be cleared up soon. How soon will depend a lot on what you tell Red about last Sunday.”

There, that had subtly placed their future together in her hands. He had gracefully shifted the responsibility for whatever happened onto her, and he had dangled the prospect of marriage to him.

To seal the deal, he leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead. “I can count on you, can’t I?”

“Of course you can, Chris.”

“I knew I could.” He kissed her lightly on the lips, released her, and helped her into the car. She started the motor. Then she smiled up at him. “You can count on me to look after Lila.”

He felt like he’d been slapped. “What?”

“You must really think I’m stupid. You’re a great lay, Chris, but that’s the only reason I can stand you. George isn’t much, but he worships me. I’m the princess in my household. In yours, I’d be under Huff’s thumb, and just be the wife you were cheating on. And this business about your brother’s death? It’s your mess, baby doll. Get out of it yourself.”

B
eck’s cell phone rang as he was climbing the front steps of the Hoyles’ house. He answered, listened, cursed, then asked, “When?”

Red Harper said, “’Bout an hour ago.”

“Did he offer an explanation?”

“That was the problem. He couldn’t.”

“Okay, Red. Thanks for letting me know. I’ll get back to you.”

He disconnected and went into the house. The wide foyer was shadowed and hushed, as though the house was napping. There was no one in Huff’s den. Beck found him in the most unlikely place—Laurel Lynch Hoyle’s plant conservatory.

“What are you doing in here?”

“I live here.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. I’m a little cranky.”

“So I see. Go pour yourself a drink.”

“Thanks, but I’d better not.”

“You need a clear head?”

“Something like that.”

“Sit down. You’re wound up tighter than an eight-day clock.”

Beck lowered himself into one of the rattan pieces that furnished the room. The western sky, as seen through the tall windows, had turned lavender with the dusk, the same color as several of the potted orchids that bloomed in profusion. The ferns were lush and deeply green, suggesting a coolness that was welcome after the heat outside. The room was like an oasis, inviting one to relax.

But it was going to take more than a tropical ambience to unwind him.

Huff was reclined on a chaise lounge, fringed throw pillows behind his back. He was holding a glass of bourbon, but he wasn’t smoking, upholding his late wife’s wish that he not smoke in her special room.

“Feeling okay?” Beck asked.

“Better than you, I think. If I were to bet on which of us has the highest blood pressure right now, I’d put my money on you.”

“Is it that obvious?”

“Tell me what’s going on.”

Beck released a long breath and settled back against the cushions of his chair. “We’re getting hit from all sides, Huff.”

“Give them to me one at a time.”

“For starters, there’s the Paulik crisis. I spoke by phone to the doctor overseeing his care. Billy’s prognosis for recovery is good. Physically he’s doing as well as can be expected.”

“But?”

“But he’s severely depressed.”

“That means a shrink,” Huff said, looking none too pleased about it.

“Not even workmen’s comp pays for that, even if the Pauliks filed a claim, which they haven’t. I think we should offer to provide a psychiatrist.”

Huff made a sound of disgust. “Those doctors drum up business for each other. It’s a racket.”

“In some instances I’m sure that’s true. However, it stands to reason that Billy is having a difficult time coping mentally and emotionally. Beyond that, it would be a good PR stroke for us. Which we desperately need.”

“All right. But a few sessions ought to do it,” Huff said. “Nothing long term.”

“Say five.”

“Say three. What else?”

“Mrs. Paulik. The new SUV we sent over yesterday was in my parking space when I got to work this morning. I dispatched laborers to their house to do some repairs, repainting, et cetera. Mrs. Paulik wouldn’t let them in. She sent them packing, then called and told me where I could stick our bribes. She’s moving her family out of your house—your ‘stinking house,’ to quote—and said that if we thought a few play-pretties could shut her up, we could think again.”

Huff took a sip of bourbon. “That’s not all, is it?”

“No,” Beck replied reluctantly. “She’s going to sue us.”

“
Dammit!
She said that?”

“She promised that.”

Swirling the liquor in his glass, Huff thought it over for several moments. “I’m betting she won’t, Beck. She’s grabbed us by the short and curlies with these threats. Okay, she’s got our attention. Let’s sweeten the pot.”

“More gifts? I think that would only strengthen her resolve and give firmer footing to her allegations that we’re using bribes to buy her compliance. And there’s a furthermore.” Beck paused, sighed. “Furthermore, she’s threatening to talk to the Justice Department. She wants criminal charges to be filed.”

Huff finished his drink and set the glass on an end table, his jerky movements attesting to his anger.

“She doesn’t have a chance in hell of succeeding,” Beck said. “It would have to be proved that we knew an accident was virtually certain to occur, and that would be damn near impossible to do even by the sharpest prosecutor.

“On the other hand, I know of companies who’ve had to contest charges of intentionally disregarding safety factors and purposefully endangering their employees. Customers of long standing suddenly take their business elsewhere. Employees, especially middle management, resign for fear of going down with a sinking ship.

“It can take years for these type cases to come to trial. A huge conglomerate with a billion-dollar budget and a phalanx of lawyers working the case might survive. Privately held companies like yours rarely do.”

Huff scoffed at that. “It’ll take more than one disgruntled, loud-mouthed woman to shut down Hoyle Enterprises.”

“Ordinarily I would agree with you. But Alicia Paulik isn’t acting alone. She’s recruited Charles Nielson to lead the charge. I received a fax from him today. I won’t bullshit you, Huff, it’s your worst nightmare.”

“Where’s the fax?”

Beck opened the briefcase he’d carried in with him and took out a single sheet. He stood and handed it to Huff, saying, “Maybe I’ll have a short one after all.”

He went into the den, poured himself a bourbon and water, spoke to Selma, who came to inquire if he was staying for dinner, then returned to the conservatory. Huff was no longer reclining on the chaise. He was pacing the width of the windows. Beck noticed that the fax had been balled up and thrown to the floor.

“He’s pissing in the wind. Our workers won’t strike,” Huff said definitely.

“They might.”

“They won’t.”

“If they’re rallied—”

“Rallied, hell!” he roared. “They’re too afraid for their—”

“Things aren’t like they were forty years ago, Huff,” Beck shouted. “You cannot conduct business like you did when you first took over the plant. You cannot be autonomous.”

“Tell me why the hell not.”

“Because Destiny isn’t some feudal burg without any connection to the outside world. The government—”

“Has no goddamn right telling me how to run my business.”

Beck laughed shortly. “Well, federal law says they do. The EPA and OSHA are monitoring us and taking names. Now Justice might enter the fray. That’s probably given Nielson a hard-on.” He rubbed the back of his neck before taking a sip of whiskey. “He’s called upon the labor unions to send—”

“Thugs.”

“They’ll be here by the first of next week. They’ll organize a picket line and urge our employees to strike until…Well, you read the fax. There’s a list of demands with the promise of more to come.”

Huff made an impatient gesture. “Our employees won’t listen to any outside agitators, especially if they’re from up north.”

“And what if they’re homegrown southern boys? Cajun. Whites and blacks. Nielson’s too smart to send men who would be dismissed out of hand. He’ll send people from this area who speak the language.”

“No matter where they hail from, our people will resent their interference as much as we do.”

“Possibly. Hopefully. But Billy’s accident has had a profound impact, Huff. You haven’t been to the plant since it happened. The atmosphere is dismal, charged with resentment. Men are grumbling, saying it wouldn’t have happened if we had maintained the machinery routinely and enforced safety rules.”

“Paulik had no business trying to work on that belt. He hadn’t been trained to.”

“I wouldn’t use that argument, Huff, because it’s one of theirs. I’ve heard complaints that new employees are put on the floor without any proper training, and that a foundry is no place to get it on the job. If I were George Robson, I’d be watching my back, although they all know he’s only a mouthpiece.”

Muttering a stream of profanity, Huff turned toward the windows and looked out over his property. Beck let him have this time to mull over what they’d discussed.

Eventually, Huff wandered over to the piano and struck several of the keys. “You ever play the piano, Beck?”

“No. My mother went through a Pete Fountain craze and enrolled me in clarinet lessons. I went three times before refusing to go again.”

“Laurel played.” Huff smiled down at the keyboard, as though seeing her hands moving over it. “Bach. Mozart. Dixieland jazz. She could just sit down and look at the sheet music and play like a maestro.”

“She must have had quite a talent.”

“You bet your ass she did.”

“Sayre told me she didn’t inherit it.”

“Sayre,” Huff said around a snuffle. “Know what she’s been doing today?”

Beck shook his head. He didn’t want to talk about Sayre. He didn’t want to think about Sayre.

“Well, let’s just say she’s kept herself occupied.”

Beck wasn’t sure how he was expected to respond, or even
if
he was expected to. Apparently not. Because Huff returned to the chaise and picked up their discussion.

“Here’s what I think, Beck. I think this Nielson character is all talk. Why did he give us advance warning that he’s sending people in? Why not spring them on us?”

“Like a surprise attack?”

Huff’s finger jabbed the air as though Beck had hit the nail on the head. “That would be my tactic. Why did he give us time to prepare? He’s let us know he’s gunning for us. That indicates to me either that he’s a lousy strategist and not nearly as smart as he thinks he is.”

“Or?”

“Or that he’s raising a ruckus to drum up publicity for himself but doesn’t really intend to follow through on his threats. I don’t think he wants a fight. I think he’s scared of us.”

Beck thought it over for a moment. “He doesn’t seem anxious to confront us. I placed several calls to his New Orleans office today after I received the fax. I was told he was out. I left word for him to call me back. He hasn’t so far.”

Huff smiled expansively. “See what I mean? He’s avoiding us. That says coward to me. Call his bluff.”

“Keep trying to contact him?”

“Pester the snot out of him. Let’s see how he likes being the one who gets pushed and pushed again. Make a nuisance of yourself.”

“That’s actually a good idea, Huff.”

“Don’t let up until he’s agreed to have a face-to-face meeting. That’s the only way we’ll get an accurate read on him. These faxes and FedExed letters are bullshit. I’m tired of littering my trash can with them.”

“I’ll get on it first thing in the morning.”

“In the meantime, I want you to talk to some of our most loyal men. Fred Decluette for one. Men whose loyalty we can count on. We need to know who the rabble-rousers among our employees are.”

“I talked to Fred this afternoon. He and some others will be keeping their eyes and ears open and reporting back who the troublemakers are.”

Huff winked at him. “Should have known you’d already be on top of the situation.”

“Another drink?” Beck got up and took Huff’s glass. In the den, he poured each of them a refill, then returned to the conservatory.

As he handed Huff’s drink to him, Huff said, “Now let’s talk about something else.”

Beck looked at him grimly. “I’m afraid there is something else. Red Harper called just as I was coming in and—”

“That can wait. Let’s talk about Sayre.”

“What about her?”

“Why don’t you marry her?”

Beck stopped short of the rattan chair and turned quickly to look back at Huff, who was placidly sipping his fresh bourbon. He laughed at Beck’s astonishment.

Beck collected himself and resumed his seat. “You must be feeling the effects of mind-altering drugs. What did Doc Caroe give you, and should you be mixing it with alcohol?”

“I’m neither drugged nor drunk. Hear me out.”

Beck pretended to relax against the chair’s back cushion. “This ought to be good. I’m all ears, Huff.”

“Don’t be a smart-ass. I’m serious.”

“You’re delusional.”

“Do you like her looks?”

Beck merely stared at him, schooling his features to remain impassive.

“I thought so,” Huff said around a belly laugh. “I saw the two of you together down by the bayou after the wake. Even from that distance, I sensed some heat.”

“Heat? Right. She was telling me in so many words that I’m the lowest life-form on the planet.”

But even as he dismissed Huff’s matchmaking as lunacy, Beck wondered if Huff had been talking to Chris. Had he told Huff about the scene he’d interrupted in Beck’s kitchen? And just how long had Chris been standing there? How much of their conversation had he overheard?

With as much nonchalance as he could muster, he asked, “Where did you get this harebrained notion?”

“You’re practically a member of the family already. Marrying Sayre would make it official.”

“There’s a major hitch to your plan, Huff. Even if I were dying to marry Sayre—and I’m only playing devil’s advocate here—she despises this family.”

“You could bring her around.”

Beck smiled crookedly. “She doesn’t strike me as being that pliant. In fact, she’s about as flexible as one of our iron pipes.”

“You don’t think you’re man enough to handle her?”

“Not even close.” Beck laughed. “Anyway, I wouldn’t want a woman I could ‘handle.’ ” Too late he realized he’d talked his way into a trap.

Huff’s eyebrows shot up. “Then it sounds like a perfect match, doesn’t it? Chemistry, sizzle, all that. Sayre’s a handful, and you don’t want a doormat.”

Beck finished his drink and set the empty glass on the dainty end table, nearly knocking over a lamp. “It’s not going to happen. Let’s forget you ever mentioned it.”

“If you’re worried about the nepotism angle, don’t. I married the boss’s daughter. Look how well it turned out.”

“This is different.”

“Damn right it is. You bring a hell of a lot more to the table than I did. I was a penniless, uncouth nobody without a pot to piss in. You’ve got a lot to offer Sayre.”

“She wouldn’t even let me pay for her cheeseburger the other night at the diner.”