hand shook as she flipped the call button, cutting off the caller. The ringing in her ears was almost deafening and her heart beat so fast in her chest it was almost painful.
“Hey, you okay?”
“Hmm…wh-what?” She looked up into Dale’s kind, round face. “Y-yes, I’m fine. Why?”
“I don’t know, you look a little pale.” Her producer regarded her for a moment, his gaze narrowing. “That was him, wasn’t it? It was that psycho again. He used the call-in line, the son of a—”
“He just wanted to let me know he’d been listening.”
Dale reached for the telephone receiver.
“No, please,” she said, stopping him with a hand on his.
“We need to report this.”
“It was just more of the same stuff as before, just him getting his jollies—nothing new.”
“But the cops are going to want to know.”
“And I’ll tell them, I promise. Just not tonight. I’m exhausted and they’ll keep me here answering questions until dawn.”
He picked up the phone, offering it to her. “Call them.”
“He’s on tape, they can listen in the morning.”
“They told you to report every time he called.”
“I will, I promise,” she insisted, taking the phone and lowering it onto the cradle. “First thing tomorrow.”
Dale drew in a deep breath and gave her a skeptical look. “If you don’t, I will.”
“I will,” she vowed with mock seriousness, raising a hand. “Scout’s honor.”
Dale made a face, and pushed away from the desk. “I got a bottle in my desk drawer. Feel like a drink?”
“No, that’s okay. I’ve got a long drive home.”
“Well, if you change your mind,” Dale said, heading for the door, “give me a shout.”
“I’ll do that.”
At the door Dale stopped and turned back to her. “And let me know when you’re ready to leave. I don’t want you walking out to your car by yourself.”
She nodded. “Yes, Mother.”
Dale snorted and shook his head. “You amaze me, sitting there so cool and calm. Doesn’t it bother you knowing that nut’s out there somewhere?”
“Sure it bothers me. But you said it yourself, he’s a nut and more than likely he’s probably harmless,” she said, feeling her throat grow tight. “Although I admit, I’ll feel a lot better when the police have him behind bars.”
Dale smiled. “Believe me, we all will.”
She laughed, but as Dale pulled the studio door closed behind him she let the smile fade from her lips. She glanced down at her hands, balling them into tight fists to stop them from shaking. She felt sick—shaky and sick—and it would take more than one drink for her to forget that horrible voice over the line.
“Don’t think about it. Just don’t think about it,” she mumbled aloud.
She closed her eyes, pressure throbbing painfully at her temples, and squeezed her fists even tighter. Her nails bit into the flesh of her palms but she didn’t care—anything to stop the shaking.
Who was she kidding? She wouldn’t be able to get down enough alcohol to get that raspy, mocking voice out of her head. Besides, she had a client coming in early tomorrow. It was hard enough balancing a private counselling practice with a nightly radio program without throwing a hangover into the mix. Still, it might be worth a try. She could call her partner to cover for her and lose herself in a couple of bottles of wine.
She rubbed her fists against her temples, slowly massaging. If only Dale knew how terrified she really was—if only everyone did. But she was determined no one ever would. She was not going to allow herself to give in to the fear—she didn’t dare. Keeping up a front was the only way she could cope. Besides, maybe if she pretended long enough the awful fear really would go away… only that hadn’t happened yet.
When the letters first started showing up in the mailbag eight months ago, she hadn’t been too concerned. After all, she received so much mail at the station it was only natural there would be a few crackpots in the bunch. But after several weeks, when the letters turned to phone calls, and the phone calls turned threatening, she’d gotten very concerned—and so had everyone else.
How foolish she had been in the beginning—and how naive. But he’d seemed so harmless at first, she’d honestly thought she might be able to talk some sense into the guy. She had taken those early calls, listening as he rambled on and on in that mechanical-sounding voice about why he believed they were meant to be together and why she should accept it. She never should have taken those calls, never should have listened. The calls had grown increasingly hostile and she was never going to forget those words or the images they left in her brain.
“I’m not going to think about it. I’m not going to think about it,” she insisted, her hands starting to shake again.
“You say something?”
“Huh? What?” She jumped violently, startled by the sudden appearance of the station’s young intern at the door. “N-no.”
The young man shrugged, looking confused. “Uh, Dale said I should walk you out to your car. You ready to go?”
“Oh, right, y-yes.” Her throat was tight and she cleared it with a small cough. “I’m…I’m ready.”
She felt foolish following the young man down the corridor and into the elevator, but if the truth be known, she was grateful not to be alone. Of course, there was just the rest of the night to think about—the drive home, the empty house, the long hours until dawn. She would hear every noise, jump at every bump, wonder about every shadow—just as she had every night for the last eight months. It wasn’t much better once she finally did drift off to sleep. Dreams filled with shadows and danger and dark, looming figures were even worse.
The elevator doors slid open, the sound echoing through the nearly deserted parking garage. And the hollow sound of their footsteps along the concrete made it feel even emptier.
“I like your car,” the intern said as the automatic door locks opened with a chirp.
“Thanks,” she said, eyeing the interior of the SUV carefully. When she was sufficiently sure no one was hiding inside, she slid onto the seat. “And thanks for walking me down. I really appreciate it.”
“Not a problem. Take care,” he said, raising his hand in a wave as he started back for the elevator. “Hasta.”
“Yeah, hasta,” she mumbled, slamming the door and quickly triggering the doors to lock again.
She hated living like this. It wasn’t fair, her life was not her own anymore—and all because of that…that creep. He was out there somewhere, doing what he wanted, going where he wanted to go, no restrictions, no fears. She was the one living in a prison, constantly looking over her shoulder, afraid of what might be around the corner, and she resented it.
“And that’s exactly what he wants,” she concluded aloud into the silence of the car—which only added to the insult. He wanted to terrify her and he’d managed to do that very effectively.
Frustrated, she pulled out of the parking lot and onto the street, punching at the radio and turning up the volume to full blast. Maybe he was out there. Maybe he was watching right now—and she almost wished he was. If he wanted to see her cower and hide, he would be disappointed. She may be frightened, her nerves may be frayed and on edge, but he wasn’t going to get the best of her—no way in hell.
“Finally! The mountain