Love Me Before Dawn

Chapter 4

MAY 24, 1974

CHAD STOCKWELL LOOKED UP AT HIS STAFFER, GARY Owens, who was following the B-1 program. The Senator tapped his short, square finger on the top of a pile of papers in front of him. “According to this, Rockwell is behind schedule in getting that bomber assembled and ready for flight, Gary. What’s the economic impact of such a lag?”

Owens, a Yale graduate, adjusted his conservatively colored tie. “Senator, I think I’d better give you a bit of background before answering that. The Air Force targeted the first engine test of the B-1 in March. It didn’t go down. They’re still hoping to make the first flight in June. Apparently more time is being spent on piecing the air frame together than had been anticipated. There’s a great deal of pressure being put on Rockwell by the Air Force to get the entire project back on schedule. If they keep going like this, it will probably be the end of 1974 before they test fly that monstrosity.”

Stockwell frowned, moving quickly through the figures. “What I’m really concerned about is if they’re going over the fiscal year budget allotted to them by Congress.”

Owens allowed himself a brief, pleased smile. He had done a great deal of digging, involving phone calls to the Pentagon, Wright-Patterson Air Force Base, and Rockwell to piece that answer together. “Yes, sir, they are. And any delay in the program tends to add to the price. What it comes down to, Senator, is this: one B-1 used to cost the American public forty-four million dollars. Now, with Rockwell lagging behind, the unit program cost has risen to fifty-four million.”

Stockwell pursed his fleshy lips, feeling anger and indignation over the entire situation. “Damn them. They were planning to order 241 B-1’s. Do you realize what the price tag on that will be?” He hit his intercom button, signaling his secretary.

“Yes, sir?”

“Betty, get me the engineer who’s running the show from Rockwell on the B-1.”

“That would be Mr. Daniel Williams, sir. I’ll ring his office right away.”

“Thank you.” Stockwell looked pleased. “Nothing like getting the full story from the source, Gary. Sit down. I want you in on this conversation with Williams.” He frowned, searching his memory. “I thought Cy Hamilton was the top dog at Rockwell?”

“Cy Hamilton was, sir, until he died of a sudden heart attack a few days after the B-1 party, Senator. Dan Williams was pushed into the slot to keep things on an even keel.”

“Didn’t work, did it?” he murmured, grinning.

“No, sir, I don’t think so.”

“Mrs. Hamilton?” Her secretary Ruth Caldwell poked her head around the opened office door.

Tess sat with her hand propped up against her wrinkled forehead. She looked up. “Yes, Ruth?”

“It’s Senator Stockwell’s secretary on the phone.” Ruth gave a grimace. “I told her Dan was out on business for the day. So he wants to talk to you.”

Tiredly Tess rubbed her face. Would she ever sleep soundly? She doubted it. Depression seemed to color her whole world black. “All right,” she answered softly, the exhaustion evident in her tone. “I’ll take the call.”

This was all she needed. Since Cy’s unexpected death, Tess had been asked to help Dan Williams take over the job as chief engineer. In a way, she was grateful for the twelve-to-fourteen-hour days. At least when she was working, she didn’t have to think. She didn’t have to feel that knife-twisting pain in her heart. Cy had died in her arms thinking that she had had an affair with Shep Ramsey. Her lips pursed into a familiar line of pain and guilt. Thank God for Dan Williams. He drove her mercilessly, not realizing he was doing her a favor. If her mind was occupied, she could ignore the anguish she carried in her heart. Expelling a long sigh, Tess picked up the white phone.

“Good morning, Senator Stockwell. This is Tess Hamilton. May I help you?”

“Mrs. Hamilton, I’m sorry to hear about your husband. Cy Hamilton and I go way back.”

A little warning signal went off immediately in Tess’s head. In the last seven months she had found out about the games politicians played. They would use anything they could to throw one off guard, so they could get some straight answers. Well, with Stockwell, she was going to be very cautious.”

“Thank you for your condolences, Senator.”

“A terrible loss, Tess. You don’t mind if I call you Tess, do you?”

Tess groaned inwardly. She didn’t want him to use her first name. She did not want to be familiar with Stockwell in any way. She hadn’t liked what she’d seen of him at the party, and his damaging press releases about Rockwell and the Air Force reinforced that dislike. “Yes, well, what can I do for you?”

“Just a few small, unimportant questions, Tess.”

I’ll bet, she thought, keeping her pen poised over a pad of paper to jot down his questions and then her answers. Her palms grew damp; she sensed Stockwell was after a great deal more than his lighthearted conversation indicated. “Go on,” she urged.

“I was just curious as to why the engine test of the first B-1 didn’t take place in March as originally scheduled.”

“We’ve been installing several systems, Senator. Delivery of some of the subassemblies such as valves, pumps and wiring has taken longer than originally anticipated. The engineers have tried to estimate the completion date of each task. Each of these individual activities, no matter how large or small, are then run through our scheduling computer. Some of the plumbing must be put in first before the wiring can be placed. Everything has to go in a prearranged order.”

“But Rockwell has people there who have scheduled large projects on complex aircraft before. They know the time involved on something of this size and complexity.”

Tess’s mouth thinned. “Senator, if you recall, the B-1 was originally designed in 1967, which means the plans are seven years old. As you well know, technology has rapidly advanced in those years. To be able to accurately project cash flows and time schedules on something that’s going to be built seven years in the future is nearly impossible. Extra time has been needed for design changes to continually update and modernize the B-1 changes that were not anticipated seven years ago. We’ve done the best we can under the circumstances.”

“And the cost estimate?” Stockwell asked.

“The rates are higher than anticipated. No one seven years ago could have predicted today’s skyrocketing costs.”

“Indeed. Each B-1 unit was supposed to cost forty-four million. Now, according to what my staff can figure out, it will be something like fifty-four million. That is extremely distressing, Mrs. Hamilton.”

Her stomach knotted as she heard the threat in his voice. Instinct told her he was going to take that information and run with it. She groaned inwardly: Stockwell knew how to manipulate the press to his full advantage. She could already see the glaring headlines now. Maintaining a neutral tone she murmured, “Senator, I’ve given you the reasons for the delays. We’re working our crews to maximum efficiency to adjust for the schedule changes. I realize that time means money. And with the present inflation rate, it means at least a six percent price hike.”

“My staff tells me it’s going to be a lot higher than that, Mrs. Hamilton.”

Tess gripped the phone receiver tightly. “I’ll talk to Mr. Williams when he comes in, Senator. I intend to document our conversation on paper. I think that when you take into account the seven-year delay between designing the plane and actually building it, you’ll understand why Rockwell is a few months behind schedule at this point.”

Tess sat immobile for a few moments after the Senator hung up. It was a lovely June day outside the windows of her large, airy office. Slowly getting to her feet, she shakily touched her brow, wandering over to the filmy blue curtains. Moving them aside, she gazed at the smog-ridden Los Angeles landscape. The main Rockwell office was located in El Segundo, a small suburb near the Pacific Ocean.

Her mind clicked with possibilities over Stockwell’s phone call. He would use the information. She could picture him gleefully calling a press conference and expounding on the cost estimate rise while conveniently omitting the reasons behind it. Damn inflation, she groused mentally. Damn everything. Closing her eyes, Tess shook her head.

Since Cy’s death, everything seemed to have gone wrong. The actual assembly of the B-1 had been slower than forecast. There were problems joining the tail structure which had in turn delayed installation of the fuselage, the center wing box and the pivotal fittings for the wing. Now the cockpit capsule was finally in place, the wiring complete for the most part. Dan had urged her to accompany him up to the Palmdale plant on several occasions, but she had found excuses not to go. Shep Ramsey might be there, and she didn’t want to risk running into him.

A new stab of pain went through her. Oh, God, Shep, she cried to herself. Tess wrapped her arms about her body. She experienced the agony of Cy’s death all over again, and the guilt she had felt when Shep Ramsey came to visit her the next day. No—no, she didn’t want to have to go through it again! She compressed her lips, closing her eyes, trying to shake loose the image of Cy’s death. How many times had she relived that night, and the events of the following morning? In the midst of all her anguish, it had been Shep Ramsey who had given her stability….

Tess had heard the doorbell ringing that morning. Dully, she had looked up, finally realizing that someone was at the front door and she had to answer it. Her mind was sluggish, numbed with shock as she rose and mechanically moved one foot in front of the other. After the ambulance had taken Cy’s body away the doctor gave her tranquilizers and sleeping pills to help her rest that first night. It was somewhere around eleven A.M. when she finally awoke from the drugged sleep and heard the doorbell ring. Still dressed in her dark burgundy silk robe from the night before, her long auburn hair unbound, she finally opened the door.

Tess blinked once, the impact of a blue Air Force uniform registering slowly on her consciousness. Raising her eyes, she gasped in stunned surprise. Automatically, her fingers went to her slender throat in reaction. “No ...” she whispered hoarsely, trying to shut the door.

“Tess! Let me in.” Shep effectively blocked the door. Her strength was no match for his. Fear mixed with anguish as he hurriedly scanned her ashen features. Her eyes were great pools of blue agony. Dark shadows lingered beneath them, the aftermath of too many tears. Her flawless peach-colored skin was pale, almost translucent. She looked dead. Her beautiful hair spilled across her slumping shoulders, framing her pain-ridden face, making her look even more pale, if that were possible. His heart squeezed as he slipped inside, quickly taking off his flight cap.

“I had to come, Tess,” he said huskily, shutting the door behind him. “I got word three hours ago.” He scowled, watching an incredible array of emotions move across her face. He groaned inwardly, realizing more than ever how much he cared about her. He reached out in an effort to comfort her. It had been an automatic reflex.

Tess shrunk away from his hand, gasping, “No!” Tears trickled down her drawn face as she backed away from him. “Go away! Oh, God, just leave me alone! Cy died because of me. Because of you! It’s my fault. I should never have let you kiss me!” She sobbed, fleeing to the safety of the living room.

Shep caught up with her, gripping her arm, spinning her around. “What are you talking about?” he breathed, forcing her to a stop. “Tess! Get hold of yourself! Tell me what happened.”

She sobbed, burying her face in her hands. “Someone saw us kissing on the balcony!” she wailed. Lifting her tear-stained face she choked out, “He told Cy! He told him I was having an affair with you!” She began to sob in earnest, trying to pull away from him. Guilt surged over her as she remained helplessly entrapped by his restraining hand.

Shep’s mind raced. One part of him wanted to take her into his arms, to hold her and keep her safe. More than anything, Shep wanted to protect her and take away the pain that seemed to radiate from every part of her being. But who had seen them? And why would he tell Cy? What kind of vindictive game was being played? Had the story caused Cy’s heart attack? Worriedly he studied Tess. She stood before him, trembling with fear and pain. “Dammit, Tess, come here,” he growled, and pulled her into his arms.

An anguished cry escaped from her as he crushed her against his body. He buried his head against the silken folds of her hair, holding her tightly. “Ssshh,” he crooned softly, “it’ll be all right, honey. Ssshh, that’s it, go ahead, cry. Get it out. I’m sorry. So sorry this has happened. You don’t deserve this. None of it.”

Huge, tearing sobs broke from her as she gave in, collapsing against the strength of his body. Tess buried her head on his chest, the backlog of fear, shock, and horror rushing out in strangled, gulping sounds. Just having Shep’s arms around her made her feel cared for, protected. She was barely cognizant of his soft, unintelligible words in her ear. His fingers gently stroked her head to soothe her, to take away the agony.

They were standing in the hall. Shep slipped his arms beneath her quivering body and picked her up. He carried her into the living room, halting near the couch, acutely aware of the warmth and pliancy of her body. She was in his arms, her hair like raw silk, the scent and touch of her skin a mingling of sandalwood with velvet. Shep didn’t want to let her go. She was alive. So incredibly alive. She was everything he had imagined. And more. Much, much more. He wanted to carry her into the bedroom and lay her down beside him. Shep knew he could assuage her pain, give her a momentary sanctuary of peace and strength through the act of loving her.

The night they first kissed, their union had completed each of them, and Shep instinctively realized that he could create the same harmony now. The same incredible sense of loving communion that had given both of them those precious, fleeting moments of wonder and peace.

He was torn between laying her down on the couch and carrying her into the bedroom despite her protests. Some indefinable emotion rose in him, nearly overwhelming his senses as he held Tess in his arms. He was aware of the arousal of his body, of his emotions as he felt the pliancy of her flesh against his hands. Reluctantly, Shep lowered Tess to the couch, then brought her back into the protective circle of his arms.

Shep had expected her to pull away, but to his surprise, she fell back into his embrace. His heart sang with silent joy at the simple gesture. Despite Tess’s words, there was still trust and an intangible bond of unnamed emotion between them, an emotion that allowed her to come to him for comfort.

Finally, after nearly half an hour, she quieted. Shep absently stroked her hair, feeling the rapid beat of her heart against his chest. He closed his eyes, resting his head against her hair. Her breasts were soft against the wall of his chest, her body fitting perfectly against the planes of his own. The urge to deepen the intimacy of his slow, stroking motions on her beautifully curved back was a continuing agony. She was so warm, her scent intoxicating his heightened senses. Leaning over, he placed a kiss on her temple, aware of the silken hair beneath his mouth and the yielding softness of her flesh. It would be so easy ... so easy to cup his hand beneath her chin, lift it upward, placing her tear-stained lips against his mouth. Desire pulsated through his tightly controlled body. Each beat of her heart was like a throbbing invitation, fanning the flames of hungry desire to roaring life within him. No woman had ever affected him on such a primal level.

Putting a rein on his needs, Shep closed his eyes, resting his head against her hair. It couldn’t be, he thought morosely. Not now…not like this. ... If I did make love to her, she would never forgive herself or me. I can’t risk that. He briefly opened his gray eyes, pain clearly written in their depths as he stared emptily off into space. Tess would hate herself and hate him. And Shep cared too deeply to let her be hurt any more. He thought too much of Tess to compound her problems. Gently, Shep ran his fingers through her hair, glorying in the sensation. Despite everything, he was determined to see Tess through this and try to reestablish a relationship with her at some point later on. A feeling of contentment washed over him, a warmth that he’d never experienced before. “Better?” he inquired, his voice barely above a whisper.

Tess nodded once. She pulled her hand from around his waist and tried to dry her thick, tear-wet lashes. He dug out his handkerchief, placing it into her fingers. “Seems like you’re always crying when we’re together,” he noted wryly, gazing down at her and recalling her tears at Palmdale.

Tess mutely agreed, pulling free of him. She stared at him gravely, aware that his left arm remained around her waist. There was a naturalness to their relationship. Why did she feel safe and stable when Shep was with her? She shouldn’t. Where had the horror of guilt gone? Right now she felt calm. As if she were in the eye of a hurricane. His gray eyes were dark and searching upon her face. There was worry coupled with anxiety in their depths. She swallowed against the lump that was forming in her throat, realizing how deeply he cared.

“Can you tell me what happened, Tess?” he coaxed gently.

She dropped her gaze to his handkerchief, twisting it between her fingers. “I—I was late getting home because my car had a flat tire.”

“A flat tire? Why didn’t you call me, Tess? I would have driven out and helped you.”

She shook her head. “I know you would have, Shep. I—I was afraid to.”

He watched her closely and understood what she wasn’t able to say—any time spent with him was a special, unfulfilled agony. He squeezed her arm. “It’s all right,” he soothed. “Go on.”

Tess gave him a helpless look. “When I finally got home, Cy was sitting here.” Her voice wobbled and she held her hand across her mouth. “He—he said someone had seen us on the balcony. And then”—she sobbed harder, fighting back the deluge of fresh tears— “he wondered why I was late coming back from Palmdale. He knew I was with you. ...”

Shep clenched his teeth, drawing in a deep breath while she cried. He gripped her arm. “Tess, who told him all this?” he demanded tightly. “Who?”

“Derek Barton! He’s a horrible little man! A subcontractor to Rockwell on the B-1 project.” She drew in a shaky breath, trying to get a hold on her rampant emotions.

Anger, more chilling than a glacier in the Arctic, flowed through him. “He lied,” he breathed softly. “The bastard lied.”

“And—and Cy’s dead because of that rotten, horrible lie! Oh, Shep—” she whispered painfully, “I can’t stand living with the pain of knowing I killed him.”

He gripped her by the arms, giving her a small shake. “Stop it,” he growled. “That’s not true. Cy was a dedicated man. You said yourself he was a workaholic. He’d been putting in too many long hours. A man of his age who’s working like that is prone to a heart attack, Tess. What have the doctors said?”

Shakily she wiped the tears away, looking up at him morosely. “They’re supposed to call this afternoon.”

His face softened. “And the funeral?”

Tess winced. “Two days from now.”

His grip tightened momentarily until he realized he was hurting her. Relaxing it he said, “Do you have anyone to help you with the details?”

She made a weak gesture with her hand. “Rockwell people. They’ve been very supportive.”

“I mean a friend? Someone close who can help pull you through all of this.”

Her mind fled over a list of the women she knew. The Rockwell secretaries hated her because of her position in the company. She had few outside friends. There was no other woman at her level, or even above her, whom she could confide in. She shook her head. “I—no, I don’t. It’s hard to explain. I spent my time either at the office with Cy or here at home with him.”

He pursed his lips, watching her closely. “Tess, let me be here for you. It’s the least I can do under the circumstances.”

Her eyes widened, broadcasting her anguish. “I can’t, Shep—Barton will be spreading rumors. I—” She halted, her voice growing hoarse. “No, you can’t. By now he’s probably spread it all over the aeronautics industry. If you’re around, there will be more ugly talk. I can’t bear it. I couldn’t take it,” she whispered, burying her face in her hands.

Frustration curled in his stomach, tightening it. His gray eyes flashed with checked anger. “I’ll get him if it’s the last thing I do,” he snarled softly.

She jerked her chin up, staring at him. The sudden change in his face frightened her. “Shep!”

He smiled coldly, gripping her cool hand. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to kill him. He deserves that, but I won’t do it. Someday we’ll meet and then….” He stopped, realizing he was upsetting Tess. “Sorry,” he murmured. “Forget it. I won’t do anything, Tess. Look,” he coaxed gently, “call me if you need me. I’ll come, no matter what time of day or night it is. Promise me that, Tess.”

She was aware of the strength of his hand around her own. Just his touch soothed the ragged edges of her composure and gave her stability. “But—your wife. What will she think? God, I don’t want to be responsible for any more problems, Shep. You’re going up for major. I don’t want to cause you any trouble. This gossip will spread to the Air Force community. It could jeopardize your chances for the rank.”

He gave her a self-deprecating smile, one corner of his mouth barely curving upward. “This can’t hurt my chances for major, Tess.”

“I don’t understand.”

“It must have been one hell of a party we attended last weekend. Yesterday Allyson told me she wanted a divorce. Seems she’s found herself a full colonel who’s going up for general in another year.” He looked away, suddenly bitter. “I should have expected it. Aly was always a social climber.”