Hers By Request

by Karen Ann Dell

  “I don’t have to wait till morning, sir—Dev. I’ll take the job.”

  They shook hands, and Dev clapped him on the shoulder. “Let’s get you settled, then. I’ve got to be in the booth in a few minutes to start my shift. The first rule around here is to be on time. That means announcers should be in the booth ten minutes before they’re due on the air so the hand-off goes smoothly.”

  He was happy with his solution to Lance Fisher’s situation even though it didn’t shorten his own workday. He’d had visions of three a.m. visits to Amanda’s little bungalow. No need to fantasize about that anymore. Too bad he couldn’t solve his own problems as easily as Lance’s. He entered the booth quietly and got another broad grin and thumbs-up signal from Andy.

  What was with this kid lately? He sniffed the air. No telltale scent of cannabis. Dev was glad to see Andy hadn’t relapsed. Which made his unusual good humor all the more puzzling.

  His own mood could stand some improvement. Not likely to happen anytime soon, though. He’d keep one eye on the control room tonight to see how things went with Lance. It would keep his mind off Amanda.

  CHAPTER 15

  The call came Friday morning at eight forty-five, catching Amanda just before Dev was due to pick her up.

  “Good morning, Ms. Adams. I’m Agent Charles Thorndyke from the FBI. I’m sorry to call you so early in the morning but I understand you spoke to the Police in Winston two days ago about Brian Donlevy, the man they’re calling the ‘Highway Hijacker’. Is that correct?”

  “Yes, Mr. Thorndyke. I saw the news article and thought my father might have been one of this man’s victims.”

  “Yes, Ma’am. I’d like to get some basic information from you over the phone if I could. We’re trying to put together a timeline on this suspect to see if we can determine what part of the country he was in month by month. Do you have a few minutes to answer a couple of questions right now?”

  Nothing was as important as the possibility she could clear up the mystery of her dad’s disappearance once and for all. If she was a bit late for the interviews, Zoe would have to start without her.

  “Yes, sir. What would you like to know?”

  “Let’s start with the name and address of the person you think may have been the victim.”

  “That would be my father, Frank Adams. We lived in Annapolis, Maryland, On Porterville Road.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Adams. And what was the date of his disappearance?”

  “It was Sunday, June nineteenth, nineteen-ninety-four,” Amanda said, her throat getting tight as she recounted the details. As long ago as it had been, the particulars of the next two days were burned into her memory. “He left work at two-thirty a.m. on Sunday morn—”

  “Was that the normal time he finished work?” the agent interrupted her.

  “Yes, he was a musician and played with a jazz quintet in Annapolis and Washington, D.C. They usually finished up around two a.m. He was supposed to drive down to Blue Point Cove and open up our summer cottage to get it ready for my mom and I to come down here the next weekend.”

  Amanda glanced around the room, visualizing her father coming through the front door, tired but happy to be here, opening the windows, turning on lights, then popping the top on a beer from the cooler he always brought with him. The scene was so vivid in her imagination, she barely heard the FBI agent ask his next question. “I’m sorry. Could you repeat that, please?” she asked, closing her eyes as though that would block out the scene her imagination had conjured up.

  “When did you know he was missing?”

  “We, my mother and I, didn’t know he was missing until the next evening. He usually called sometime Sunday morning to let my Mom know the phone service was turned on and that everything was all right. When she hadn’t heard from him by late afternoon, she called the sheriff in Cambridge and asked him to check our cottage. They didn’t find him or any indication that he had been there at all.” Her eyes burned and the effort to maintain control of her voice roughened her breathing.

  The agent summarized, “So, after your father left work at approximately two-thirty a.m. on Sunday, June nineteenth, no one saw or heard from him again. Is that correct?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “What kind of car was he driving when he disappeared?”

  “We had a nineteen-eighty-eight Pontiac Grand Prix. It was a gray, two-door model.” She rattled off the license plate number from memory.

  “You’re positive of the make and model of the car? And the license plate?”

  “Yes, Agent Thorndyke, I’m positive. I’ve been searching for my father for fifteen years. I can even tell you what he was wearing the night he disappeared.”

  “Thank you, Ma’am. I wasn’t doubting your accuracy, just double-checking to make sure I had all the information you gave me correctly. I’ll enter all of this in the file we have on Brian Donlevy. The car may be the best chance of finding out if your father was one of his victims. This sociopath was more interested in talking about the cars of his victims than the victims themselves. I want you to understand that this investigation may take quite a while, so if you don’t hear back from us right away, don’t think we’ve forgotten about you. Be prepared to wait a month or so. It will take us at least that long to check out all the places this guy dumped the cars or their drivers.”

  “Yes, I understand. Will someone be coming here? I’m living in the cottage I told you about, where my dad was headed that night.”

  “Possibly, Ma’am. If your father was killed by Mr. Donlevy, it probably would have happened before he got that far. If we need more information, or if we discover remains that need to be identified, we’ll be in touch by phone. Thank you for taking the time to speak with me, Ma’am.”

  “You’re welcome, Agent Thorndyke.” She didn’t want to hang up and end the only link she’d had in fifteen years to someone who might know something about her dad’s fate. But, really, what more could she ask? At a knock on her front door, she reluctantly dropped the phone into its cradle and answered it.

  “Hi. I beeped but I guess you didn’t hear me . . .” Dev stopped and studied Amanda’s face. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?” He opened the screen door and came in, not waiting for an invitation.

  Amanda swallowed twice to ease the tightness in her throat from unshed tears. “I’m . . . I’m not quite ready to go, Dev. Sorry,” she croaked.

  The tenderness and concern in his eyes almost undid her and she turned away so he wouldn’t see the two escaping tears slide down her cheeks. She needed to get to the bathroom, splash some cold water on her face, and get herself together.

  His hands on her shoulders stopped her and turned her around to face him. He tipped her chin up with a finger.

  “Tell me.”

  That voice of his always was irresistible.

  “The FBI called. About my dad. They caught a serial killer in Virginia.” Tears welled up again and she couldn’t fight them back this time. “He might have . . . murdered . . . my dad,” she said on a sob.

  Dev put his arms around her and she buried her face against his chest and let the tears come, hot and fierce. She held on to him so tightly he probably couldn’t breathe, but he wrapped his arms around her and rubbed slow, soothing circles across her back until the torrent of tears lessened to a few shaky gasps. He brushed her hair back from her face and stood there, rocking her gently from side-to-side, and she thought how wonderful it would be if she could just stand here like this forever. Warmed and cherished and comforted, while Dev kept reality at bay outside the circle of his arms.

  She sighed and released him and he instantly responded, dropping his arms and backing away a step. Reality rushed back to fill the void and she shivered.

  “I’ve gotten your shirt all wet,” she apologized as she plucked the dampened material
away from his chest, avoiding his eyes.

  “It’ll dry.”

  He cupped her face with his hands and wiped her tears away with his thumbs, the thin cotton glove on his left one soaking up the wetness more efficiently than his bare right one. She put her hands over his and squeezed gently.

  “Thanks. You arrived at just the wrong time to witness my melt down. My emotions are all over the place lately, and the call took me back to when . . . my dad . . . went missing.”

  You don’t need to apologize, darling,” he said.

  The endearment slipped out so naturally she wondered if he realized he’d used it.

  “I gather the FBI arrested someone who may have been involved in your father’s disappearance.”

  She nodded and took a deep breath. “Apparently this man—Brian Donlevy—hitchhiked up and down the East Coast. He’d kill the driver, put the body in the trunk, take his money, and drive a few states away before he dumped the car, usually in a lake or a quarry. When the money ran out he’d hitch another ride and do it again.”

  She realized her hands were trembling and crossed her arms, tucking her hands in her armpits to warm them. She shivered again.

  “Maybe you should sit down for a few minutes,” Dev suggested. Her eyes still held hints of horror, and he knew she was thinking of her father stuffed in the trunk of his car. He didn’t blame her for her meltdown. It was a pretty grim thought to deal with, no matter how long ago it may have happened.

  “How about a glass of water? Or coffee? Would you like me to get you some coffee?” he asked, acting as if he was at his own place instead of hers.

  The irony of it struck Amanda, too, and she managed a brief smile. “Thanks, Dev. You don’t have to take care of me, really. Despite my reaction a few minutes ago, I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.” She sniffled and took a deep breath. “Let me go wash my face and we can go. I’m already late for my first interview. Zoe must be wondering what happened to us, uh, me.”

  “If you want I can call her while you go wash your face,” he offered. “Let her know we’re on our way.”

  She caressed the side of his face. “I know men hate to hear things like this, but you are so sweet, and thoughtful and . . . kind.”

  He winced. “You’re right, we hate that.” He fought to keep his hands away from her.

  “But it’s true, you know.” Her eyes still held the glimmer of tears.

  “No, it’s not,” he said so emphatically she dropped her hand and stared at him. “I’m only doing what friends do for each other when one of them is hurting. And we’re friends, right?”

  “Right,” she agreed.

  A second ticked by.

  Two seconds.

  She stepped up to him and kissed him softly on the mouth. “I think I want those benefits back, Dev.”

  Thank God.

  He slipped his hand behind her neck and cradled her head, holding the perfect angle to match his lips to hers. Much as he wanted to kiss her senseless, this was not the time. In a few hours, when she was over the shock of the news of this serial killer, she might regret the weakness that walked her into his arms and let him comfort her, hold her, kiss her. He returned her kiss gently then grasped her shoulders and stepped away again.

  “I want to talk to you about this some more, but you’ve got things to do today, and so do I. Can I see you later? For dinner, maybe?”

  “That would be . . . nice. Can you pick me up at Zoe’s about six o’clock? I should be done by then.”

  “I’ll be there. Now you go wash the tear tracks away and I’ll call Zoe and tell her you’ll be there in fifteen minutes, okay?”

  “Yes, thanks. I’ll be right out.” She went down the hall and her voice echoed back. “Hate it all you want, you’re still a kind, sweet man.”

  Dev grimaced. Once she knew the truth, she was going to hate having said this sweet crap all the more. He dialed the Silvercreek Gallery and Zoe picked up on the second ring.

  “Silvercreek Gallery, may I help you?”

  “It’s Dev, Zoe. Amanda’s running a little late. I’ll drop her off in about fifteen minutes. Are any of her appointments there yet?”

  “One just got here a minute ago. I’ll get him some coffee and chat with him till you get here. Thanks for the call, though.”

  “No problem. Bye.”

  He scanned the room. He and Jeff had better not waste any time today. He hadn’t planned on having dinner with Amanda. He thought he would be dropping her off after a silent and tense ride back from Zoe’s. He planned on hightailing it out of there before she even got inside, fully expecting her to be furious when she realized all he had done. Now he was back to clueless as far as what would be going on between them by tonight.

  Amanda came back carrying her briefcase, her eyes a little puffy but still beautiful. He helped her on with her coat. “Ready?”

  “All set.” She led the way out the door. “Are you still going to caulk the windows today?”

  “Yes, that’s the plan.” He opened the car door and she climbed in, then he went around, got in, and started the engine.

  “I guess you’ll want this then.” She handed him a key.

  “Right. Thanks.” He put his hand out and she dropped the key into his palm. He slipped it into his jacket pocket, wishing he never had to give it back.

  On the drive into town, Amanda informed him that she had to stop by the station on Monday. She had filed his corporate tax return on the fifteenth. Now she was working on his personal return. That was due in two weeks.

  “I have to admit I haven’t done a return for a veteran before, so I want to make sure I’ve got all the details right. You paid yourself so little since your discharge from the Army that there is no doubt you won’t owe the government anything. In fact, you should be getting a refund.”

  Delivering good news put a smile on her lips and some sparkle back in her eyes. He, on the other hand, felt like he was walking on eggshells. As soon as he dropped her off at the gallery, he bee-lined to Jeff’s place, backed the SUV in, and pounded on the studio door.

  “Easy, D. You don’t have to break the door down, I’m up and ready to go,” Jeff said.

  “Sorry. I’m anxious to get started. I want us finished by five-thirty, so I can get cleaned up before I pick Amanda up. We’re going out to dinner.” He delivered this news with all the nonchalance he could muster, but he didn’t fool Jeff for a second.

  “Dinner, huh? What got you back in Amanda’s good graces?”

  Jeff gathered tools and joined Dev in loading the Land Rover. Together they had the equipment and supplies packed in five minutes and Dev was barreling down the two-lane road a minute later.

  “Dude, we have to live in order to do the work. Slow down to mach two, will you?” Jeff had his foot braced against the dashboard but he grinned as they sped down the road.

  “I’m not going any faster than you do on this stretch,” Dev shot back. “And don’t call me Dude.”

  “Yeah, but I’m on my bike. It takes corners a lot better than this hunk of—” He revised his description at Dev’s dark scowl, “—metal. The center of gravity is a lot lower.”

  Dev slowed as they went back through town, then sped up again, passing the turn-off to Mrs. Wyndham’s in a record three minutes. Still, it was almost ten o’clock when they reached Amanda’s bungalow. Dev was out of the truck and up the stairs to the porch before Jeff had unfolded himself from the front seat.

  “Hmm, she gave you a key, huh? You never did tell me what turned things around.” Jeff followed him inside and went over to the small alcove off the kitchen that held the washer and dryer. Above them was the circuit breaker box. He opened it and gave Dev a thumbs-up. “We’re golden, D. Enough breakers in here to hook up the new heaters.”

 
“You’re sure you know what you’re doing with that electrical panel? I don’t want to worry about burning this place down just for the sake of a little hot water.”

  “No worries, D. My dad was a general contractor. Used to help him out on jobs a lot during my summers in high school. Now I’m a licensed electrician. I got this.” He flipped a couple of breakers. “I’m going to kill the power to the baseboard heaters, then you can get them out of here.”