After Midnight by Merline Lovelace

commerce meeting in South Walton Beach about six. How about I pick you up at seven?”
    “Sorry, I’m busy Friday night.”
    The reply was quick, chilly, and anything but encouraging. Steve’s smile tipped into a grin. Even at her frostiest, the colonel turned him on. It was the fisherman in him, he decided, as much as the cop. He couldn’t resist the challenge of getting her to take the bait.
    “Maybe some other time, then.”
    “Maybe.”
    In other words, take a hike.
    “I have to go. Good-bye, sheriff.”

Chapter Five
     
    Disconcerted by the call and the unexpected invitation, Jess did her best to put Paxton out of her mind in the days that followed. The demands of her job helped in that regard. So did her decision to personally observe fuel delivery operations the next time a barge docked at the off-load facility.
    One was scheduled to arrive just before noon the following Wednesday. Clearing her schedule for a few hours, she grabbed her fatigue hat, told Mrs. Burns she’d be on mobile, and drove the short distance from Building 500 to Weekly Bayou.
    One of Choctawhatchee Bay’s innumerable inlets, the finger of water poked right into Eglin base proper. At its mouth, the Services folks maintained a sandy beach, a Fam-Camp with RV hook-ups, and boat slips with rentals for base personnel. The pristine beach had taken a severe hit in the tropical storm that had swept the area just days after Jess’s arrival, but most of the debris had been cleared and the recreational facilities were again open for business.
    Luckily, the storm hadn’t damaged the fuel dock. It floated at the tip of the bayou, little more than a stone’s throw from the massive storage tanks. Jess parked at the entrance to the dock and sat for a moment in the air-conditioning blasting through the Mustang’s vents. Iridescent waves of noon heat shimmered outside the windows as she surveyed the scene.
    There wasn’t much to see. A long, white-painted wooden pier. A hook-up to the underwater pipeline that ran to the storage tanks. Scattered pieces of emergency fire suppressant equipment. A small building that served as control center and office for the dock NCO.
    Shutting off her car’s engine, Jess braced herself and climbed out. Although her baggy camouflage fatigue pants and loose-fitting shirt were supposedly designed to allow air to circulate, she knew she’d be swimming in perspiration within minutes. As the natives were fond of saying, that was Florida in mid-June for you.
    Her black boots clumped on the boards as she walked out onto the floating platform. The familiar tang of aviation fuel flavored the air. Although she’d spent her entire career in the supply business, she’d never become directly involved in the fuels operation. She was learning more about the complex task of keeping aircraft refueled, cocked and ready with each passing day.
    When he saw her coming, the NCO in charge of the docks threw her a surprised look and a hasty salute. “Good morning, Colonel.”
    “Good morning, Sergeant Weathers.”
    “What can I do for you?”
    “I understand you’ve got a barge on the way in.”
    “Yes, ma’am. The tug captain just radioed that he’s ten minutes out. We’re getting to deploy the booms.”
    “Mind if I watch?”
    “No, ma’am,” he replied warily.
    He was even newer to the base than Jess was, having reported in just two weeks ago. The prospect of having his commander look over his shoulder obviously made him nervous. He started down the dock, but the sound of a vehicle pulling up brought a sweep of relief to his face.
    “There’s Sergeant Babcock. He had this job for years before he took over the lab. He can answer any questions I can’t.”
    Jess turned, narrowing her eyes against the glare as a government vehicle parked behind her silver Mustang. When the short, stocky NCO made his way out to the dock, her glance went to the stripes on his sleeve. If Ed Babcock resented the fact that he now wore one less