Love Me Before Dawn. Lindsay McKenna

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