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"Would I expect anything less from you?" Haralson asked with a wicked smile. "Trust me."
He put his hand over his heart. "I have a soul."
"If you do, you keep it in your wallet," the Native American agreed. "I know you too well, Haralson.
Just don't forget that you may have something on me, but I've got something on you, too. You had
knowledge of a crime and didn't report it."
Haralson stared at him uncomfortably. He hadn't
thought things through that far. He and Cortez were acquaintances, not real y friends, but they
occasionally did each other some good.
Cortez didn't smile, he smirked. He didn't like Haralson, but the man could be useful at times.
It wouldn't hurt to do him one small favor, so long as it didn't breach any legalities. Cortez followed
the very letter of the law in most things. He turned away, coin in hand, and went to pick up his jacket.
"I'll be in touch as soon as I've checked out a few people and places."
Nikki had waded out into the surf to watch the distant freighter sail out toward the horizon.
She wondered how it had been during Charleston's early days as a port city, when great sailing ships
came here, carrying their precious cargoes of spices and rum and, sadly, slaves.
Pirates had come from here, people like female pirate Anne Bonney and her cohort Stede Bonett.
Descriptions of those early days had fascinated Nikki in col ege, so much so that she'd done three
courses in colonial history. The somber and dignified George Washington came to life as her
professor lectured about the way the old warhorse had put on his old Continental uniform in 1794 and
led 15,000 volunteers off to put down the Whiskey Rebellion and how the rebellious Pennsylvania
distillers had quickly dispersed at little more than Washington's threat of dire action. Far from the
conventional image of George Washington with his little hatchet, the real man emerged from legend
with stark clarity.
She wandered along with her toes catching in the damp sand and felt suddenly alone. Funny how a
man she hadn't even known a week ago had made a place for him in her mind, in her heart. He didn't
want Nikki in his, of course. He'd made that very plain. She supposed that, not knowing her, he'd
classed her as a gold digger and decided to cut his losses before she found out who he was. How
amusing that she did know, and had tried to subdue her own interest for equal y good reasons.
She felt a chill and wrapped her arms around herself. Just as wel that it was over, she told herself.
The chill grew worse. She laughed, because her chest felt cloggy and she'd been sure she was
completely cured. She'd make herself a hot cup of soup and see if that wouldn't help. Then she'd have
an early night, and soon enough Kane Lombard would become a sad memory.
She woke in the middle of the night coughing uncontrol ably. Her throat was sore and her chest hurt.
This was going to need the services of a doctor, she realized. She dialed, but Chad Holman wasn't at
home. She lay back down. He'd be back
soon, she was sure. She'd just close her eyes and phone him later.
But it didn't quite work out that way. She slept and didn't waken until morning. When she did wake,
she couldn't talk at al and she was coughing up colored mucus. It didn't take a high IQ to realize that
meant an infection. She had bronchitis or a recurrence of pneumonia, and a fever to boot. She was too
nauseated even to sit up. She couldn't talk, so how could she call anyone? She could tap on the
receiver, but Chad was a doctor, not a communications specialist. She couldn't get word to him to
come and see her, although he certainly would, just as he'd come to see Kane.
The same would be true of Clayton.
But sailors knew Morse Code, she thought foggily. Certainly, they did! So if she could remember just
the distress signal and how to spell her name in Morse, she could get Kane to come. He didn't want
her, but in an emergency, that didn't even matter. Thank God she'd taken an interest in Morse Code
when Clayton's senior legislative counsel Mary Tanner's boyfriend had bought his first shortwave. He
and Mary had broken up years ago, but Nikki still remembered the code.
She had Kane's number. He'd given it to her to telephone him that last morning they'd gone out
together. She painstakingly pushed the buttons. There was a pause and then a ringing sound. She
waited. Waited. Three rings. Four. Five. Her heart began to sink when the phone was suddenly jerked
up and an impatient male voice demanded. "Who's there?"
He was in a hurry. It didn't dawn on her that his housekeeper would normally have been answering
the telephone, which was a good thing or she might not even have tried to get him. She tapped on the
receiver.
"What the hell...?!"
She made a hoarse sound, afraid that he was going to slam the receiver down. She tried again.
S...O...S...
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