"Of course. Help yourself."
"Can I bring you a cup?" she asked as she started for the stairs.
"No thanks, but while you're down there you might want to check out the strawberry preserves in the jar on the counter. Ruby, down in Vega Flats, keeps me supplied. It's pretty good on an English muffin."
She nodded, giving the idea some thought. "I just might do that."
* * *
"Am I sure I want to quit?" She thought about that for a moment. "I do unless you're ready to deal me some decent cards." She moved the mouse, sending the little arrow on the computer screen to the No tab, and clicked. "All right, I'm giving you one more chance." At the prompt, playing cards scattered across the screen. "But could you at least give me a fighting chance this time?"
She had unloaded her client files and plugged in her laptop with every intention of going through each file and updating them in the computer, but she found it hard to concentrate on anything more than the computerized solitaire game. It had been such a beautiful day outside—clear and sunny. It had made her feel restless to stay inside all day.
After Jake had found her in the kitchen, drinking coffee and stuffing her face with English muffins and strawberry jam, he had shown her around the rest of the station. She hadn't been kidding when she'd told him she was impressed. Eagle's Eye was beautiful, both the structure and the location, with far more modern conveniences than she had expected. She had been hoping for indoor plumbing, but not only did it have that, it also had hot water, television and a microwave oven, to boot. Had she known that two days ago, she didn't think she would have resisted the idea of coming nearly as much.
She had turned down his offer of lunch. She'd taken up enough of his time. She didn't want him to feel obligated to entertain her or treat her as a guest all the time. Besides, she was a little embarrassed at what a pig she'd made of herself with the muffins and jam. She'd told him the truth when she'd said she wasn't much of a breakfast eater, but that hadn't been the case this morning.
"All right. Black queen over the red king. It's about time."
She moved the cards across the screen. She'd never been great at solitaire, and her luck this afternoon had been particularly bad, but not all of it had been a result of the draw. She'd had trouble keeping focused on the game. Her mind kept drifting back to that moment this morning in the tower.
She still wasn't exactly sure what had happened. They'd just been standing there talking about the broadcast, talking about Dear Jane when…when it happened. Suddenly he was looking at her and it was as if the air had turned electric. Everything in her reacted—her heart, her lungs, every nerve ending in her body.
She'd realized she had developed a certain…awareness of the man in the last couple of days, but there had also been a lot to distract her and help her to put what she was feeling aside. Now, however, away from the city, from the fear and the nightmare, there was a lot less distracting her from what might be happening.
"Just what is happening?" she demanded of herself aloud. But she already knew the answer to that. What was happening was all too clear. The awareness she had of him was all too quickly becoming full-fledged attraction, and that was something she simply couldn't allow to happen. The man was dangerous, posed too great a threat. Unlike the danger of a stalker bent on harming her, Jake threatened to make her care.
She couldn't allow herself to fall into that trap again, couldn't allow her feelings to leave her wide open and vulnerable the way they had with Blake. No one was ever going to have that kind of control over her again. She'd made that mistake once.
The situation wasn't hopeless. Being forewarned was being forearmed and she understood the pitfalls and risks in a way she hadn't before. She could protect herself against this attraction, could control it and not allow it to get the better of her. She just had to be careful, that's all, careful to keep things in perspective, careful not to let her feelings get the better of her. But just to be on the safe side, it probably wouldn't be a bad idea to keep to herself and avoid the man as best she could. No sense tempting fate.
The knock on the door made her jump, her heart leaping into her throat. "C-come in."
"I startled you again, didn't I?" Jake said as he walked into the apartment. "I'm sorry. Would it help if I made some noise climbing the steps?"
"It would help if I could just stop being so darned jumpy, get over this a little."
"It'll happen," he assured her. "It just takes time."
"I suppose."
He nodded to the computer. "Working?"
From where he stood he couldn't see the screen and she quickly folded it down. "Just a little."
"Look, I know we agreed to just coexist, to do our own thing, but I just made a huge pot of chili and you didn't have any lunch…" He shrugged. "Want to have a bowl with me?"
She almost smiled. It was a good thing she'd had that little talk with herself, because now she was prepared for situations just like this. She had already decided what her course of action would be, what was allowed and what wasn't. She was going to keep to herself. She was going to avoid the man whenever possible. She was in control.
So it took her completely by surprise when she opened her mouth and heard the words that came out.
"Sure, I'd love to."
Chapter 7
"I just can't bring myself to sign them."
"The divorce papers."
"Yes."
"Why do you suppose that is?"
"I—I don't know. It's over. I know it's over. But a divorce, it's just so final."
"You want to get back together, is that it?"
"No, I really don't. I know that will never happen, I just can't…"
"Can't what, Pamela?"
"I just can't let him go, Jane. Help me to let go."
"You heard it, we're talking with Pamela from Peoria and she needs help letting go of her lost love. Let us hear from you 1–800–NIGHT TALK. I'm Jane Streeter, give me a call."
On cue, Jake switched off the mike and gave her the all-clear sign. Over the speakers, soft jazz began drifting out into the night, broadcast from the L.A. radio station miles away. The precisely timed, coordinated effort between the tower and the radio station had this first broadcast of "Lost Loves" going off without a hitch.
"That seemed to go okay, don't you think?" Jake asked in a low voice.
"You know," she said in an equally low voice, leaning across the makeshift desk he'd set up for her, "it's really not necessary that we whisper." She smiled as she straightened up, tapping the dead mike in front of her. "This thing isn't on," she told him in a normal voice.
"You're right." He chuckled. It was only then that he realized just how tightly he'd been holding himself during the broadcast. "I guess it's going to take me a little while to get the hang of this."
"You're doing great," she assured him. She glanced at the timer, which counted down the seconds until they went on the air again. "How does the call queue look?"
"Lit up like a Christmas tree." He stretched his arms, easing the taut, tense muscles in his neck and shoulders. "I think America missed Dear Jane."
"Well, it's been six long days, let me assure America that Jane is very happy to be back," she said, making a few notes.
"Crazy calls tonight, though, don't you think?" he asked, rolling his shoulders back.
She laughed. "They do seem to be out in force tonight. What was that one from…who was it…?" She put her head down, thinking for a moment. "Was it Sammy? Something about his girlfriend being jealous of his dog?"
"Scotty," he corrected. "Scotty from Scottsdale. Don't you remember, he's the guy that called a couple of months ago talking about how his girlfriend was threatening to leave him because he would let the dog watch whenever they…well, you know, when they made love. He couldn't understand why she got so mad, because the dog would just end up going to sleep anyway."
Her eyes widened. "Okay…Scotty from Scottsdale…I think you're right. I remember now. That
was him?"
"Yeah, I remember because his dog was a Scottie too." He laughed. "And you told him if he put the dog to sleep, he should check on his girlfriend too."
She laughed with him. "Wow, I am impressed. You've got a great memory. You really have been listening to the broadcasts, haven't you?"
If she only knew, he thought, feeling foolish now. He watched as she adjusted her headset, pushing an errant strand of hair out of her eyes. The whole night had a fantasy-like feel to it. Despite the work it had taken to set up the makeshift studio, despite the numerous tests they'd done and the careful planning it had taken, he was still having trouble believing he was actually seeing Dear Jane in action.
It had been almost a week since Kristin had first arrived at the tower, and to say she'd been as quiet as a mouse would have been an understatement. Except for that first morning, when he'd given her a tour of the place and they'd shared a dinner together, he'd barely seen her. She would occasionally come into the tower in the mornings to fix a small breakfast, or collect a few pieces of fruit. The rest of the day she would spend in the apartment above the garage working on her computer. He would maybe catch a glimpse of her again in the evening, when she would emerge to fix herself an equally small dinner, maybe watch a sunset, then disappear into her room for the night.
Thinking she might be bored, he'd taken one of the television sets and hooked it up in her apartment. She'd been very grateful and had thanked him profusely. But when he'd asked if she'd like to join him in the tower for some spaghetti and meatballs he had simmering, she'd promptly declined the invitation.
At the wedding she'd acted as if she didn't like him. That wasn't the case any longer. There was nothing rude or impolite in her behavior now. On the contrary. She'd been a perfect guest—cordial, affable, pleasant. Also, too perfect. He almost wished she would give him one of those barbs of hers, one of those icy stares or chilly comebacks. At least he would have known she felt something for him, even if it was only contempt. Anything would be better than indifference.
"Ninety seconds," she signaled, glancing at the timer.
It was hard to believe he was watching the same woman now though. The transformation was almost unsettling. The person sitting on the opposite side of the desk was like an old friend. She didn't act anything like Kristin. There was nothing cool or indifferent about her. She was warm and passionate and capable of displaying myriad emotions. This was Jane Streeter—his Jane—and watching her as she worked was amazing.
He glanced at the timer, watching with her as the seconds counted down. He could feel his muscles tensing as he inched his thumb closer to the switch. He'd been in some tight situations in his life, but this kind of stress was a killer.
Ten…nine…eight…his heart sped up…six…five…four…beads of sweat popped out along his forehead…two…switch and…
"And we're back. You're listening to 'Lost Loves' and I'm Jane Streeter, your shoulder to cry on. We've got someone on the line. Hello, caller, this is Dear Jane, thanks for phoning in to 'Lost Loves,' talk to me."
"Hi, Jane, this is Anthony, glad to have you back."
"Thanks, Anthony, what should we talk about tonight?"
"I wanted to say I think I know how Pamela feels. I had a hard time signing my divorce papers too. They sat on my desk for almost a month and I couldn't bring myself to put my name on them until I realized I wasn't afraid of letting go, I was afraid of admitting failure."
"And as long as you were still legally married, you didn't have to do that?"
"Exactly. But then I got out the dictionary and looked up failure. It means catastrophe, fiasco, collapse. My marriage hadn't been a catastrophe or a fiasco. It had been great while it lasted. It just ended, that's all. It hadn't failed. It just ended."
"Sage words, Anthony, and no doubt ones that were hard to come by. Did you hear that, Pamela? Maybe what you really need to do is reexamine what you're really hanging on to. We've got someone else on the line. Caller, you've got Dear Jane, talk to me."
Jake watched and listened. She made notes as she talked, jotted down names of the callers, reminded herself of things she'd wanted to say, even doodled. He could imagine she had been doing much the same things all those nights he'd been listening.
She had looked so surprised when he'd reminded her of the caller earlier—Scotty with the Scottie in Scottsdale. He'd actually felt a little embarrassed. Had she thought he'd only been flattering her when he'd told her he was a regular listener?
He closed his eyes, listening to her voice, hearing the expression, the wit and the emotion in it. It was hard to believe someone listening to that voice would want to harm her. What was it the stalker had heard that would make him want to kill?
He opened his eyes, watching her expression as she talked. He could see becoming fascinated by her, even just from hearing her voice. Was it possible that a desperate, disturbed personality had taken that fascination one step further and really wanted to harm her?
In many respects, her stalker had followed a predictable pattern, becoming possessive, expressing feelings of love, his belief that they were soul mates. But where he seemed to break the pattern was that his fascination had turned so rapidly to violence.
He had studied Ted's notes and the official file on the case before they'd left Los Angeles and he found a number of things that disturbed him. The stalker's initial contact with her had been through the call-in line at the radio station, but even then he had used a mechanical device to disguise his voice. It struck him as odd that he hadn't used his own voice. If he had feelings for the woman, had become obsessed and believed them to be soul mates, wouldn't he want her to know him? It was almost as though his intent from the beginning had been to harm her, that those early professions of love and devotion to her had been merely a cursory attempt to hide his true intentions.
But why? Who would want to hurt her?
"Oh, friends, another heart has been broken. This first-time caller hails from the wilds of Washington State. Sad Sheila, you're among friends. Tell us your story."
"Hi, Jane. Well, we met a few weeks ago, our sons play on the same Little League team, and we just started talking during the games. We had a lot in common, both divorced, both in our early forties, both worked in the health-care industry. After one of the games, he suggested we all go out for pizza and the four of us had a great time. I'm no raving beauty and it had been a long time since a man had paid any attention to me. It made me feel…"
"Like a woman again."
"Yes, yes, like a woman again. I started looking forward to going to the games, you know, to see him. I even started paying more attention to how I looked, fixing up a little more. Anyway, I had to work late and was late getting to the game. He was there, waiting for me. I was thrilled. Then he asked me if I'd do him a favor and—oh, I just feel like such a fool…I—I thought—"
The caller became very emotional and Jake watched the play of emotion on Kristin's face as she listened. The show took its fair share of crank calls and she listened to a lot of crazy stories, joked with a lot of the callers and everyone was entertained. But not this time. This was the kind of call that made her show a success, the reason her listeners tuned in night after night. This was a real person in real pain and there was nothing amusing or manufactured in Kristin's response. She wanted to help and you could hear it in her voice.
"Finding out something isn't what you thought it was doesn't make you a fool, Sheila."
"But I just feel so stupid. H-he asked me if I'd do him a favor and of course I said I would. I thought maybe he was going to ask me for a date or something."
"But he didn't."
"No, but you know what he wanted? He wanted me to baby-sit his son for the night so he and his girlfriend, Bambi, could go to Vegas—you see, it was a special weekend. Bambi was turning twenty-one."
"Sheila, Sheila, you met someone who represented himself as being one kind of person but turned out to be somebody else. You shouldn't be the one who fe
els foolish."
"But I thought he liked me."
"I'm sure he did. But, Sheila, let me ask you something. If I told you I had this man I wanted you to meet, he was your age, divorced, in the throes of a crippling midlife crisis, was trying to convince himself he has something in common with women half his age, would you want to meet him? Of course not.
"Sheila, that's the man you met. He may have told you he was somebody else, but that was a lie. No reason to feel foolish for having been misled."
"You think so, Jane?"
"I do. Any of you out there have something to say to Sheila? If you do, the number is 1–800–NIGHT TALK. Let's hear from you. In the meantime, here's a little something to smooth out the night."
Jake flipped the switch, giving Kristin the all-clear sign as the timer began its countdown.
"You're getting pretty good at that," she said, slipping off her headset. "You'll be a pro in no time."
"I don't know," he said, rubbing the muscles in his neck again. "I'm not sure I have the nerves for it. Live radio, how do you do it every night?"
"You get used to it," she said, making a few notes on the table in front of her. "And it helps knowing we're on a thirty-second delay. That way, if I do something truly stupid, we've got some time to rethink it."
"That's right, I forgot about that. They're able to screen the calls then, at the station, right?"
"Yes, thank goodness."
He noticed the change in her immediately. "That's why he never ended up on the air with you."
She had stopped writing, but didn't look up. "Once we realized he was using some sort of device that distorted his voice, Dale pulled the plug." Leaning back, she tossed her pencil down and glanced up. "So he got frustrated and started writing. Sometimes I wish I'd just let him talk. Maybe that's all he wanted, to hear himself talk."
"Maybe," he acknowledged. "Or maybe it would have just made it too easy for him."
Night Talk Page 10
