Lonely Millionaire

by Carol Grace

  For a moment he dwelled on the irony of his being a broadcast news person, with possibly the biggest story that would ever almost literally fall into his lap, and he couldn’t use it.

  Right after the noon newscast he called Pam. She sounded withdrawn and remote, and he couldn’t blame her. She turned down his dinner invitation, after which he made the mistake of offering to get some takeout and bring it over.

  “I don’t think so,” she said. “I’m kind of…kind of tired. I think I’ll just stay in and watch some TV. I think I’ll stay around the house for a while. And you…maybe you should do the same. I mean at your house.”

  Tom got the message. He had become radioactive. The Mercedes guys hadn’t seen Pam, had no reason to believe she was even in the van, no reason to go after her. But for Tom, maybe it was only a matter of time.

  “You don’t want me to come over for a while, is that it?”

  “I think that makes a lot of sense, don’t you? I mean, until we know they’re not going to…to come after you.”

  They’re probably going to come and kill you, he heard in her voice, and I don’t want to be there when it happens.

  The thought of being deprived of Pam, of her warmth next to him in bed, of her lithe dancer’s body with its energy and unbelievable sexual appetite, was almost as abhorrent as his fear of the killers. That week away from her in Tahoe was bad enough, how long would this last?

  “I suppose you’re right,” he answered forlornly.

  The conversation ended after a few polite words of encouragement to each other; Tom ended the call and left the building. He waved to Mike Turner as he passed the studio window; Mike was reading a used-car commercial and raised a hand in a casual response.

  Damn you people, Tom growled as he got into his car. Now you’re really messing with my life. They looked like some kind of Asians, he remembered. Maybe they were already on their way back to China.

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  Table of Contents

  Chapter One