by Karen Rose
That made sense. Rafe’s father, Karl, owned a number of businesses, most of them making money hand over fist. The radio station was the exception. Gideon knew it was perpetually in the red because Irina was always chiding Karl to sell it. Then the two would smile at each other because they knew Karl never would. It had been his first business and where he’d met Irina.
KZAU held sentimental value, pure and simple. That Daisy worked there was no surprise. Irina had told Gideon this when she’d first started singing him the praises of the “cute little blonde,” the daughter of one of Karl’s oldest friends.
Karl gave jobs to a lot of people starting out. Gideon’s first paycheck had come from Karl Sokolov’s radio station, as a matter of fact, and for that he’d always be grateful. That Daisy worked the morning show was a bit of a surprise, however.
“I thought you did sales,” Gideon said, because that was what Irina had told him.
“I did at first. But . . .” She shrugged. “Right place, right time.”
“Not true,” Rafe said. “Daisy was doing the vocals for some of the ads and the station manager liked what he heard. The old cohost had to take emergency sick leave about three months ago and Daisy’s been filling in. Ratings have never been higher.”
He didn’t doubt it. He’d tuned in just to hear her more mornings than he cared to admit. Her husky, sexy voice was perfect for radio. That she’d garnered unwanted attention was an unpleasant corollary.
“What kind of calls and e-mails?” Gideon asked.
Another shrug. “Just the normal, I guess. ‘You make me hot. You sound so sexy. Let me take you home with me. Meet me for drinks.’” She rattled them off quickly, her cheeks growing flushed. “Some were a bit more explicit.”
Gideon had to bite his tongue against a sudden surge of fury. He had no reason to be so angry on her behalf. She was nothing to him, just an acquaintance. Still, no one deserved to be the recipient of sexual harassment. Daisy had not initiated any of it. The morning show was not sexual in any way. It was drive-time morning banter, family friendly. Karl insisted on it.
Gideon blinked, abruptly appalled at himself. Daisy hadn’t deserved any of this. Even if she’d told dirty jokes, acted the part of a sex vamp on air, or even shown up stark naked for events, she wouldn’t have deserved any of the suggestive calls or e-mails.
Of course, the mental picture of her stark naked sent his mind in an entirely different direction, and he quickly tamped it down. Not now. Not now? What’s wrong with me?
“Why didn’t you tell the station manager?” Rafe asked, clearly biting back his own anger. “I’m not mad at you, Daisy. You get that, right? It’s just that we could have helped.”
“I get it. I do. But Tad said that everyone gets e-mails like that. The really explicit ones came and went. If they’d been steady or grew threatening, I would have told the manager. I was handling it. Or I thought I was.” She bit at her lip. “I didn’t put the e-mails together with what happened tonight. The man said, ‘They all do.’ I figured I was one of many, that tonight was a random thing. But . . . maybe it’s not.” She pointed to her cell phone on the table next to her enormous handbag. “I saved the e-mails and the voice mails. The e-mails came to my account at the station but I can access that on my phone.”
“The calls came to your cell phone?” Gideon asked, his own anger reemerging. “How did they get your number?”
“Wouldn’t be that hard,” she murmured. “I do events at a lot of the places where I’ve been volunteering for six months—long before I got the morning show. All of those places have my cell number. I imagine someone was either tricked or convinced to give it out.”
“That changes tomorrow,” Erin said grimly. “New cell phone. Nobody has the number but us. And your family.”
Daisy’s expression was glum. “I already figured that.”
“We’ll also check your phone for tracking software,” Rafe said. “It could have been embedded in any of the e-mails.”
“I never clicked on an attachment.” She drew herself up, her frown more than irritated. “I’m not stupid, Rafe.”
Rafe’s voice was even when he replied. “Never said you were. But I’m going to make sure that nobody has been able to track you using your phone. And I’ll be having a talk with Tad about what kinds of e-mails are reportable.”
“Good luck with that,” Daisy muttered.
Clearly Tad was not a cooperative coworker. Gideon filed that away for later inquiry. “Who had your number?” he asked now. “Where do you volunteer?”
Rafe smiled good-naturedly. “Where doesn’t she?”
Daisy’s chin lifted and, to Gideon’s surprise, anger sparked in her eyes. “I do a lot of work for local charities,” she said coolly. “For reasons of my own.”
Rafe held up his hands in surrender. “I’m not saying you shouldn’t. It’s just a lot.”
“I have a lot of time to make up for,” she said quietly, her anger softening to something Gideon couldn’t identify. “And amends to make.”
“It’s a twelve-step thing?” Erin asked, respect in her tone.
“Partly. It also keeps me too busy to want a drink. But mostly because I don’t yet know what I want to do. So I’m doing it all.”
Gideon wondered if those were all of her reasons or just the tip of the iceberg. Daisy Dawson had layers he hadn’t expected.
“Where do you volunteer?” he asked again, his pen poised and ready to make a list.
“The animal shelter, especially on adoption days. I got Brutus at a shelter.” She lifted the dog, dropping a kiss between her enormous ears, and Gideon found himself envious of the ridiculous animal. “I also work at the cerebral palsy rec center and at a few of the local nursing homes. I’ve done some fund-raising for a veterans’ group. Multiple good causes there.” A shadow flickered across her face, but she forced a cheerful smile. “And the radio station is sponsoring a 5K run for leukemia research, which I’m in charge of.”
Gideon stowed his question about the veterans’ group for another time. “I’m running that 5K.”
She arched a brow. “So am I. I bet I beat your time.”
He chuckled. “You’re on.” Then he sobered. “Someone at all of these places has your cell phone number?”
“Probably several someones, most of whom wouldn’t think twice about passing it on, especially if the person asking for it claimed to need me to do something for the community.”
That wasn’t going to help at all. He looked at Rafe with a frown. “Detective Sokolov, will you be able to trace the e-mails and phone messages?”
Rafe nodded. “We’ll certainly try.”
Daisy pushed her phone across the table to Rafe. “Can I get it back later? Just to copy my contacts list and calendar?”
“You don’t use the cloud?” Erin asked.
Daisy snorted, but it was a soft sound. “No. There’s enough of my father’s paranoia left in me to nix that idea. Never store your information anywhere you don’t have total control of. I have no idea who controls the cloud.”
“Nobody does,” Erin murmured, but her lips twitched a little, making Daisy’s do the same. “What about Tad? Mr. TNT himself?”
Daisy blinked. “Well, Tad isn’t . . . mean. Exactly. He never lets me forget that I got my job because I know the boss. Which isn’t one hundred percent true, because I do have a degree in journalism. He never does it on the air, but . . . yeah. I’d say he’s just determined I know my place. Which is behind him, wherever he happens to be.”
A degree in journalism? That explained the gleam of curiosity. Gideon suspected she’d sunk her teeth into finding out more about the locket and was biding her time.
“Has he ever expressed an interest in you that you considered sexually harassing?” Erin asked.
Daisy’s cheeks flushed once more. “Not really. It’s usuall
y just a compliment on my clothes or my hair. He makes it sound friendly, so I didn’t think anything about it. A few times he’s asked if I was free for lunch. I keep telling him no. I don’t particularly like him, to be honest. But he’s never been blatantly inappropriate or even hinted at the kind of violence I saw tonight.”
Erin nodded like this satisfied her, but Gideon wasn’t happy with that at all. Tad sounded like a condescending jackass who needed to be taken down a few notches.
“What about your neighborhood?” Erin asked. “Any trouble?”
Daisy looked amused at the question. “Only when Sasha drinks too much and comes home singing at the top of her lungs. I rent from Rafe,” she explained.
Gideon knew that. Rafe had bought out his siblings’ share in the Midtown Victorian they’d all inherited from one of their grandparents. He’d gone on to completely renovate it, creating three apartments. Rafe lived on the third floor and rented the second to his sister Sasha. Daisy would be renting the first-floor studio.
Gideon knew her studio apartment well. He’d lived there when he’d first come back to Sacramento after years of assignments in other cities, just until he could get himself settled. He’d recently bought his own home near the Bureau’s field office. It needed renovation, so he’d been taking his time about moving, but then Rafe told him that his father’s old friend’s daughter needed the space.
“What about your neighbors?” Gideon pressed. “Has Brutus made any enemies?”
Her brows lifted. “Brutus? No. She’s sweet and hardly ever barks, unless I’m being attacked by a masked man in an alley.”
Sarcasm then. He was oddly impressed. “Who knew you’d be at AA tonight?”
The smile on her face abruptly disappeared. “My friend Trish. My sponsor, Rosemary Purcell. Everyone in my AA group, I guess. I don’t usually leave from the station, but I did tonight because I had to work late. He could have followed me, I suppose.”
“Why were you working late tonight?” Erin asked.
“I needed to finalize all the other sponsors of the 5K. I can give you a list of the calls I made. I didn’t use my cell phone. I made all the calls from the landline at the station manager’s office. Anyone I called would have known I was there. The station’s caller ID would have flashed on their phones. I made thirteen calls. I remember thinking it was either very lucky or unlucky. I guess it was the second one.”
“I’d like to listen to the voice mails you mentioned,” Erin said. “And I’d like to know why you kept them.”
Daisy made a face. “I was handling Tad, but if that changed, I guess I wanted to show what he was asking me to ignore.”
Rafe slid her phone back to her. “Unlock it, please.”
She tapped in her passcode. “It’s 071490. If you need to unlock it again. Don’t tell my father I gave you the code. He’d have a fit.”
“Why?” Gideon asked.
“Because he’d invoke my constitutional right against search and seizure and yada yada.” She waved her hand. “He’s also a defense attorney.”
A paranoid, paramilitary defense attorney. That was interesting. But not what Gideon was after. “No. Why is that number your passcode? It seems like a date.”
She turned to look at him, her extreme weariness suddenly evident. “That was my sister Carrie’s birthday,” she said very quietly.
Was. He could only nod. “Thank you.”
Her throat worked as she swallowed. She handed her phone to Rafe. “What are you going to do with it?”
“Right now, I’m going to play the voice mails,” Rafe told her. “I want to know if any of the callers’ voices are the same as the one you heard tonight.”
She closed her eyes for the briefest of moments and Gideon had the feeling that the messages would be much more serious than she’d led them to believe. “Okay,” she whispered, then opened her phone app to messages and hit PLAY.
SACRAMENTO, CALIFORNIA
THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 16, 11:30 P.M.
“Copacabana” had segued into “Somewhere in the Night” when his phone buzzed in his pocket once again. Like Pavlov’s dog he responded, checking the text. He’d known it would be Sydney, but seeing her name on his screen had him swallowing hard.
You were quite rude tonight, Sonny. I expect an apology or I might not use my influence to allow you to keep your job.
He swallowed hard again. Did she have the influence? Could she keep him employed? He couldn’t lose his job. He’d lose his home.
He’d lose his basement.
Her next text hit him far harder. I’d hate for you to lose your home, Sonny. Of course, you’re always welcome to move home with me.
No. No, no, no. His gut turned to ice. I can’t go back. I won’t go back.
His fingers trembled as they typed on the screen’s tiny keyboard. I’m sorry, Sydney.
That’s better. My sweet boy. You’ll always be my sweet boy. Sweet dreams.
He lurched to his feet, pacing the length of his bedroom. That he could actually get fired after years of kowtowing to that prick’s every demand, after being told that the company would be his? Selling it out from under him was a huge blow, professionally and personally. He’d been betrayed, plain and simple.
Not by Sydney this time. She was merely using the situation to her own benefit. This was all on the old man.
And on me.
Because I trusted him. Again. I believed him. Again.
My mistake. Again.
Because he lied to me. Again.
He would not lose his job. He would not lose his house. He would not lose his basement. He especially would not move home with Sydney. Not ever again.
New rage thundered through him, because he didn’t have anyone in his basement.
And he would have had someone in his basement if the blonde hadn’t surprised him. If her fucking dog hadn’t distracted him.
Sitting on the edge of his bed, he hung his head, his hands fisted on his thighs. His brain was pingponging. He hated this. Hated not being able to think.
He tried deep breathing, but that didn’t help at all. He was never going to get any sleep and he absolutely needed to sleep.
He had to be sharp for work. His partner would notice and turn him in to the boss. Which was all he needed. He was on thin enough ice as it was. He would not give that prick a reason to fire him any sooner than it would happen anyway. It would be just like the old man to look for reasons to refuse his employees any severance.
Unless Sydney was serious and she really could influence the new owner to allow him to keep his job. But am I willing to pay her price? Hell, who was he kidding? He’d pay Sydney’s price regardless. He always did. Always asked How high? when she demanded he jump.
Because I’m a coward. Which made him so damn angry. Sydney would take advantage of his situation, even though it was unlikely she could do anything to help him, despite her claims. His hands twitched, a sudden craving rising within him like a rogue wave. He could feel his hands around her skinny throat. A skinny throat, he corrected himself. Never Sydney’s, but by the time his guests were dead, at least he wasn’t as angry anymore. I should have had a guest in my basement. I should have had a way to feel better.
A cold, wet nose nudged his knee and he sneered down into the adoring brown eyes looking up at him. “I blame you,” he ground out. “I should have shot that damn yipping . . . thing when I had the chance. Before it distracted me. Before you, I could have.”
Mutt licked the inside of his arm. He would have liked to believe it was in apology, but Mutt was rarely sorry for anything he did, even the truly bad stuff.
“You could have eaten her mutt in one gulp. Just calling that thing in her purse a dog is a crime,” he told Mutt, who gave him a doggie smile, trotting behind him happily as he went to his closet for some clothes.
He knew what he neede
d tonight and he was unsettled enough to take the risk. He put on his dress slacks and a nice shirt, buttoning it up one more button than usual so that the scratches from earlier were hidden. Bitch, he thought, irritated.
He snugged the wig over his bald head and applied a mustache and bushy eyebrows with spirit gum, then checked his appearance in the mirror over his dresser and gave himself a nod. He wasn’t gorgeously handsome, but he wasn’t a troll, either. He was ordinary, in that in-between where women sometimes noticed but never remembered him.
Just like his old man. If his father hadn’t had money, Sydney never would have given him a second look. She’d been a classic trophy wife.
With a predilection for young boys.
He scowled at the mirror. He wasn’t going to think about Sydney. He was going to get another guest, hammer out the worst of his rage, and then figure out everything else.
SACRAMENTO, CALIFORNIA
THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 16, 11:35 P.M.
Daisy turned off her phone, willing her hand not to tremble. “I didn’t remember there being so many,” she murmured when the last voice mail was played.
Or so awful. Because many of them had been awful, degrading and humiliating. Some downright terrifying. Different phone number, different voices. All male.
“I bet you have great knockers.”
“You got a boyfriend? I’m better than he is. I guarantee it.”
“Your voice alone makes me come.” That one, or variations on the same theme, had been left by multiple callers over the last few months, at least three a week.
“Can’t wait to feel you squirming under me while I show you who’s the boss.”
“Gonna hold you down and make you scream my name in that sexy voice while I pound that pussy of yours.”
The final two were the only ones left by the same caller. “Loved how you filled out that T-shirt at the ribbon-cutting today.” That had been two weeks before, when she’d attended the opening of a new grocery store.
“Where’d you go after the grocery store thing? I wanted to take you out to dinner. Stick around next time,” the caller said with a hearty laugh, then added with forced levity, “Don’t make me follow you home.”
