Seattle after Midnight

The voice, seductive and yet somehow comforting, propelled Pierce Harding to crank up the volume of his radio, so he could hear above the steady drumming of rain on the roof of his car.

“You’re listening to Georgia and this is Seattle after Midnight on KXPG radio….”

Across the street the Charleston Hotel sparkled with seasonal fairy lights. A wreath decked out with bows and fake fruit made the oak entrance look Christmas-card perfect.

Pierce popped a square of chewing gum out of a pack and into his mouth. It was the beginning of December and Christmas was being rammed down his throat wherever he turned. He could only hope Georgia wouldn’t play any bloody carols on her show tonight.

Parked with the owner’s permission at the service end of a gas station, Pierce had a clear view up and down the street. The sidewalks were deserted. Occasionally a car would drive by. Only three had stopped for gas in the past half hour.

Thanks to the cold, he had to keep the windows closed and run the heater at fifteen-minute intervals to clear the condensation. But even with the pumped-in warmth, he felt chilled. Tired. Alone.

“This is your time,” the radio host promised. She sounded a bit like Demi Moore, Pierce thought. Only sexier, if that was possible.

“Yours and mine,” she continued, her voice dipping even deeper. “I have some sweet surprises in store for you, so stay with Georgia and we’ll get through this night together, I promise.”

Across the street the door to the hotel opened. Pierce grabbed his video recorder and hit the power button. But the two people holding hands as they dashed for a waiting taxi were strangers. He set down the camera and prepared himself mentally for a long wait.

His agency had been hired to keep twenty-four-hour surveillance on the wife of a man who was out of town on business for three days. Jodi and Steven Calder were in their midforties, childless and wealthy. Steven—Pierce’s client—suspected Jodi of having an affair. A suspicion that seemed likely to be true.

Just four hours ago Jodi had taken a taxi from the Calder’s estate home in Madison Park. She’d had a big black suitcase with her and when the cab had pulled up in front of the Charleston, Pierce had been sure she was up to no good.

But as far as he could tell, she was in her room alone and had been for hours. He’d been keeping an eye out for single males entering the hotel, but had seen none. The Charleston seemed to appeal more to older couples and families than the business crowd.

Or the illicit-lovers crowd.

What was Jodi Calder doing in that hotel room? Had her lover been delayed somehow? Had he canceled? But if that were the case, why hadn’t Jodi Calder returned to her comfortable home?

The situation was puzzling, but soon would become someone else’s problem. He’d broken the watch into three eight-hour stretches. Jake Jeffrey, his youngest and newest employee, would be covering mornings, starting at 5:00 a.m. Will Livingstone, the senior man in Pierce’s team, would handle the afternoon shift.

If Jodi Calder’s lover ever did turn up, they’d catch him, all right.

“Tonight we’re going to play something special.” Georgia’s voice sounded as close and intimate as if she were sitting in his car with him. “When Kenny Rankin sings in the key of D minor, the result is something no feeling person could ever forget. Imagine you’re at a table in a Parisian bistro, sipping wine and thinking of that one person you’ve never been able to forget.”

The music started then, plaintive notes, a pleasing melody, then a man’s voice, clear and pure. Pierce’s chest welled with an unrecognizable sensation, a sweet aching. More and more he felt this way when he listened to Georgia’s show and he couldn’t help but wonder if this was the emotion Cass had tried to describe to him in the years they’d been married.

She’d been so good to him, tried so patiently to help him, and he’d given precious little in exchange.

Cass, I thought I loved you.

But the way he felt right now, he knew something had been missing. And Cass had known, too.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Georgia said as the song ended. “Tonight we’re going to be listening to a lot of music played in those sad, haunting minor keys. Because we all know that love isn’t always sunshine and roses. If you can relate to that, I want to hear from you. Give me a call, toll-free, at…”

As she recited the phone number, Pierce imagined what it would be like to call Georgia, to actually speak to her.

He shook his head, amazed that the idea had even crossed his mind. He muttered the toll-free number that Georgia repeated frequently through out her program. So frequently he had it memorized. His fingers itched for the cell phone in his jacket pocket.

God, he was worse than an obsessed teenager.

Keep your mind on the job, he reminded himself. He’d gone thirty years without falling in love. He certainly wasn’t about to start now, with a woman he’d never even met.

FIFTEEN-YEAR-OLD Brady Walsh couldn’t sleep, which was nothing unusual. He was often awake for hours after his mother said good-night to him, usually around ten o’clock. It was their unspoken agreement that as long as he stayed in his room, she wouldn’t interfere with whatever he chose to do—homework, surfing the Internet, or playing video games.

On weeknights after twelve he listened to the radio. He’d found a new program he really liked. The music was kind of hokey, but the disk jockey was really cool. Listening to Georgia he forgot about the fact that he had no friends, no girlfriend, no life.

And no wonder.

Brady stood in front of his bedroom window. With his bedside lamp on, and the big oak outside screening the streetlamps, the glass was perfectly reflective, showing in excruciating detail all the reasons he would forever be a nerd.

Too tall, too skinny, too many zits. Braces on his teeth. Then there was his nose. Brady put a hand up to his most hated feature. It was the same as his father’s and though he knew his dad had been considered a good-looking man in his day, on Brady the nose looked gargantuan.

He wasn’t surprised Courtney wouldn’t talk to him anymore.

He went to his desk, where he kept his old junior high yearbook open to page twenty-five and a photograph of the drama club. In the center of the group of students—most of them girls—was Courtney herself, her blond hair gleaming, her perfect teeth, which had never needed braces, showcased in her heart-stopping smile.

Courtney. She was so far out of his league—in looks, personality and popularity—that he never would have dared to dream about her if they hadn’t been assigned to the same research project at the start of the school year.

He’d been surprised at how smart she was, how easy to get along with, how funny. She contributed ideas, but was willing to listen to his suggestions, too. They’d met after school for three precious afternoons, and one Friday evening at her house, her mother had ordered pizza and they’d worked until after nine.

She laughed easily and often, but not foolishly like so many of the girls at school.

They’d aced the project. Got the highest mark in the class.

Restless, Brady paced his room, not sure what to do with his energy. It was well past midnight, but he knew he’d never sleep. His room was beginning to feel like a cell.

Gently, he eased the door open. His mother had stopped crying about half an hour ago. Her door was shut and no light showed in the gap between door and carpet.

He slipped downstairs and raided the fridge of that night’s leftovers. As he munched on a piece of roast shoved into a crusty dinner roll, he noticed his mother’s purse on the counter next to the phone. Beside the purse was the key holder for her new Audi.

The car had been a birthday present from his father in June. That was six months ago and she’d driven the car only a handful of times, preferring to get around in his dad’s old Buick.

Brady could hardly wait until he had his driver’s license. His mother had already told him she’d let him use the Audi whenever he wanted. What freedom that would be! He imagined himself at the wheel, the window rolled down, a fresh breeze in his hair.

The first place he’d go would be Courtney’s house. He remembered where she lived, had even figured out which window belonged to her room.

An urgent longing to see her, right this second, hit him. If he drove by her house, maybe the light in her room would be on. Maybe he’d catch her silhouette as she walked past the window to her bed…

He stared at the key holder that he had no legal right to touch. He had only a learner’s permit. The car wasn’t his.

Then he scooped the black plastic case up and pressed the silver button on the side. The key sprang out like a secret weapon. Cool. He felt like he could tap into the power of the V-8 engine just from this slender piece of metal.

Why not? An inner voice challenged. How would Mom ever find out? Just don’t go too far, don’t use too much gas and you won’t have any problems.

Brady tossed the key into the air once, then grinned. He was going to do this.

Five minutes later, he was in his mother’s car. He glanced over the dashboard, familiarizing himself with the various controls. The car came equipped with a cell phone. That could come in handy, too.

Nervous, but determined, Brady reversed out of the garage. On the radio the woman with the throaty voice welcomed him back to Seattle after Midnight. He thought about what she’d said earlier. Imagine you’re at a table in a Parisian bistro, sipping wine and thinking of that one person….