Dead Air

by Robin Caroll

  TEAR PATCHED AS BEST AS POSSIBLE. $10.00 REPAIR FEE.

  Eric better find himself a woman and get hitched soon—the minor stitching fees were going to eat him alive. Gabby smiled and moved to the desk.

  She pressed the button to turn off the monitor. A slip of paper on the floor caught in her peripheral vision. Bending, she retrieved it. Her gaze automatically registered what she held—a deposit slip. As she scanned the amount, Gabby’s heart pounded. Fifty thousand dollars! She jerked the slip closer and studied the information—the date, the account name and the amount again. Eric’s personal account—she knew because she’d made his payroll deposit several times over the years. Where did Eric get fifty thousand dollars to deposit into his account today?

  With shaking hands, Gabby shoved the receipt on the edge of the desk, then slipped out of the office.

  What was going on?

  SIXTEEN

  Night fell over Mystique. Clark ducked into Ms. Minnie’s diner, then shook off the raindrops spattering his back and shoulders.

  Three of Gabby’s friends sat at the back booth. He took a moment to realize what a smorgasbord they were—the classic young beauty from the B and B; the librarian, a strawberry-blonde with cold green eyes, and nurse Imogene, the mousy type, but with personality bubbling from her face. So different, but obviously so in tune with one another. As one, their laughter ceased, and they turned to stare at him.

  He resisted the urge to squirm. When Clark moved to go to the other side of the diner, Imogene called out to him. “Mr. McKay, won’t you join us?”

  He glanced at the friends and found the strength to uproot his feet.

  Imogene slid over next to the young classical beauty. “Sit.”

  “Thank you.” Clark dropped onto the bench beside the librarian.

  “I don’t think you’ve been properly introduced to all the girls, have you?”

  “No.”

  As if she didn’t notice his discomfort, Imogene pointed across the table at the woman sitting beside him. “That’s Sheldon, town librarian. I believe you met her at the Ellisons’.”

  He nodded at her.

  Imogene tilted her head to the side. “And you’ve met this lady beside me, Rayne VanDoren, manager of the B and B.”

  “So, Mr. McKay—” Sheldon pinned him with her scrutiny “—what exactly are your intentions toward Gabby?” Those green eyes of hers could freeze his blood right in his veins.

  Heat skidded up his neck and scorched his face. He realized what facing the Spanish Inquisition must have felt like.

  “Sheldon! How rude,” Imogene admonished.

  He couldn’t help but chuckle. “It’s okay, really.”

  Good thing, too, because Sheldon didn’t look as if she were the least bit fazed by Imogene’s reprimand. Her stare remained locked on his face, and even Rayne leaned forward to stare at him over Imogene.

  He hauled in a deep breath. “I really like Gabby—a lot—and I want to get to know her better.”

  “But?” Sheldon jumped right on him, not giving him an inch to collect his thoughts.

  He nodded as the waitress approached with a carafe of coffee. Clark waited until she’d filled his cup and walked away before readdressing the ladies. “There’s still something she doesn’t trust me about. She even refused to look at the house I bought.”

  A collective hush fell over the table. He glanced at Sheldon, who dropped her gaze to study the French fries drowning in ketchup. He looked at Rayne, whose lips were pressed so tight together, they were white around the edges. Something wasn’t right—they knew what was going on.

  “What?” He faced Imogene. “Help me out here.”

  Imogene searched his face.

  “I really like her.”

  Imogene cleared her throat.

  “What?” Was he just blind to the obvious? Each woman at the table seemed to sit in shocked silence.

  “Well, you see…”

  “Immy, you can’t tell him Gabby’s personal business,” Sheldon said with a slap to the tabletop. “She’ll kill you.”

  Clark turned pleading eyes to Imogene. “Please. I really want to understand.”

  “Look, she had a really bad experience back in college with the management of a local news station. Then, when she moved back to Mystique, she got her heart set on an old home that she just had to buy. She’s been saving up for it for years.”

  “What happened?”

  “You’ve said enough, Immy. Drop it.” Rayne nudged her friend, then shot her piercing gaze to Clark. “That’s all you need to know. If you really care about Gabby, and I think you do, then you should be as open and honest about your feelings and your past with her. Once she feels you’re being upfront, she’ll tell you the rest herself.”

  “No, Rayne, Immy’s right—he needs to know.” The librarian pointed a fork at him. “You bought her dream house.”

  Oh, no. That explained the tears in her eyes when he invited her in. Her funny expressions on their date when he talked about improvements. “I didn’t know.”

  “You couldn’t have.” Imogene’s smile was sincere. “And deep down inside, Gab knows that.”

  “I would have never bought the house she wanted if I’d known.”

  “Hard to know with a Yankee.” But Sheldon flashed him a wide smile.

  “You know, you should talk to Gabby. Soon,” Rayne said with a nod. “No sense waiting. Lay your intentions out on the table. She’ll appreciate your candor and honesty.”

  He choked on his coffee. “She’s at work.” He glanced at his watch. “Or will be soon.”

  “Yes.” Sheldon quirked a single brow up. “And you have a problem with that? Aren’t you her boss?”

  They were trying to help him? They’d given him approval? Elation pushed his hunger even further away.

  “They’re right. You should go as soon as you finish eating,” Imogene nearly whispered. “Tell her how you feel.”

  Swallowing, he nodded. “I will.”

  Her eyes widened.

  Clark stood in the hall of the station, his hands cupped around his face, pressing against the glass to the studio to stare at Gabby.

  Gabby motioned him inside. “What’re you doing here?” Her tone was as soft as the rain flittering to the ground following the hard storm of earlier as he eased into the studio and took the seat in front of her. “Has something else happened?”

  “No, nothing like that. I just wanted to see you. Talk to you.” He blinked, his heart racing.

  Those eyes of hers…man, he could drown in the liquid emotions expressed in them. He’d swear he could see forever lurking there.

  “Clark?”

  Jerking back from fantasyland, he forced a smile. “I wanted to talk to you. About my house.”

  Her expression went void. “I only have a minute left before I’m back on air.”

  He opened his mouth, but she shook a finger at him while adjusting the headset over her ears.

  “This is Gabby Rogillio, and welcome to dedications on KLUV. Up next is a special dedication going out to Casey from Robin. She says she loves you with all her heart. Love to you all, Mystique.” She pushed the button to start the song, and then shoved the headset down to hang around her neck. She stared at Clark. “Would you like a cup of coffee? I just made a fresh pot.”

  He shook his head. “I just had dinner—I mean, supper.”

  She smiled weakly as she doodled on her desktop. “So, what about your house?”

  Clark shifted in his seat, the old chair creaking in protest. “I didn’t know it was the house you wanted. I would never have bought it had I known you were saving up for it.”

  “You couldn’t have known.” She tossed him another smile, but it still didn’t reach her eyes.

  “Well, I just wanted you to know that…” He clenched and unclenched his hands. “I just want you to know that I had no idea.”

  “Just a minute, time to queue up a few more dedications. Hold that thought.” Gabby settl
ed the earpieces snugly over her ears.

  Once she’d aired the dedications and started the song, she pushed down the headset again. “Have you heard anything else? About the case?”

  “Nothing. You?”

  “Well, I talked with Eric about Mr. Tankersly. He said his stepfather was abusive.”

  Clark nodded. “Fits with the rage we saw in him during our altercation.”

  “It’s just…” Gabby shrugged and chewed on her bottom lip.

  “Just what?”

  “I found something tonight that bugs me a little.”

  “Such as?” He leaned forward, resting his elbows against the small desk.

  She worried her bottom lip with her teeth. “A deposit slip from Eric’s personal account. For quite a bit of money.”

  “Exactly how much money?”

  “Fifty thousand dollars.”

  He let out a low whistle and leaned back. Fifty thousand dollars? “Dated recently?”

  She nodded, her eyes asking the questions her voice wouldn’t.

  “Any idea where he’d get that kind of money?”

  “None.” She clicked the pen. Click-click-click. “It does look strange.”

  Click. Click.

  “Did you ask him about it?”

  “He’d already left.”

  “I have a friend from…older times, and I can ask him to look into it.” He ran a hand over the uninjured side of his face, studying her. “Gabby, why don’t you trust me?”

  “I do.” No hesitation.

  But she still wasn’t being completely forthcoming. He shook his head as his pulse pounded against his skull. “Not in business you don’t. Why?”

  Click. Click. Click.

  “It’s not that I don’t trust you, Clark.

  The silence filled the room like dead airtime.

  “You don’t. Every single time I even mention my past business or the station, you close up as tight as a clam.”

  She dropped the pen onto the desk, shoved the headset over her head, and then punched the button to broadcast the dedications she read from her sheet. After queuing the song, she stared across the desk at him. “I just got burned before by newshounds, okay? Let’s just leave it at that.”

  “No, I don’t want to leave it at that.” His voice came out as unyielding as her expression. He swallowed, then softened his tone. “I want you to trust me, Gabby.”

  “Why is this so important to you?”

  “Because you’re important to me.”

  “You hardly know me.” Her words were barely a whisper.

  “And that’s part of the problem. I want to get to know you better.”

  She chewed her bottom lip, not responding.

  “Gabby, I don’t want to frighten you off. I think you know there’s something simmering between us.” He laid his hand over hers. “That kiss…” Had nearly scorched him. Hadn’t she felt it?

  The heat from the contact sent little beads of perspiration to the back of his neck. No sense stopping now—might as well get it all out in the open. “But we’ve got to be open and honest in order to get to know each other better. I want that. Do you?”

  She licked her lips, but remained as unmovable as the Confederate monument outside Mystique’s courthouse square.

  “I think we have a chance at something here. Something wonderful and lasting.” He withdrew his hand, letting it fall into his lap.

  “Clark—”

  “No, let me finish.” He gulped in air. “You interest me in a way no other woman has, Gabby Rogillio, and I have no intention of letting that drop without getting to know you better.” He stood, towering over her. “You think about that. In the meantime, I’ll have an investigator look into Eric’s accounts and into Martin and his late wife and see what I can dig up.”

  Her jaw hung slack, but her stare stayed glued to his.

  “How about we meet for lunch tomorrow? Give you some time alone to think about what I’ve said.” He took a step backward. “Say about eleven at Ms. Minnie’s?”

  She nodded.

  “I’ll see you then.” He turned to head to the studio door, then stopped. Glancing over his shoulder, he stared at her.

  In four strides, he’d crossed the room to her. He gripped her shoulders and pulled her up to him. With the slightest pressure from the tip of his finger, Clark lifted her chin, then lowered his lips to hers.

  Her lips were soft and yielding, spinning his mind and emotions into an eddy.

  He ended the kiss way before he was ready for it to be over, and withdrew from her in just a fraction of a heartbeat. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he whispered, his breath teasing her cheek.

  Gabby sank back into the chair.

  He resisted the urge to whistle as he left the studio.

  In the dark parking lot, he slipped into the rental car. A breeze skipped across the open space. Would she even show up for lunch tomorrow? Lord, please let her show up.

  Driving home, he listened to the dedications on KLUV. He didn’t hear Gabby’s exact words, just listened to the throaty smoothness of her one-of-a-kind voice gliding under his skin and tangoing into his heart.

  He’d told her the truth…he did want to get to know her better. His interest and attraction held his throat so tight he couldn’t swallow.

  Once in the house, Clark glanced around at the renovations he’d already started. To Gabby’s house. Oh, she’d downplayed how important this house was to her, but he could tell Gabby loved the house. How had he missed that before? As he looked around, he could imagine her here, in this house. With him.

  The knot in his throat cinched. After Philly, he didn’t believe in happily-ever-after. Yet, here he was, dreaming of a perfect ending with a woman who still seemed unsure whether or not she could trust him.

  He glanced at the clock. It was late, but not so much so that he thought he’d wake his former reporter. Clark flipped open his cell and punched in the man’s number.

  “Yes?”

  “It’s Clark. I’m sorry for calling so late.”

  “No worries, dude. What can I do for you?”

  “I need you to find out some information for me. Personal information about some people here in Mystique.” He’d set the hound on the trail of the fox now. Let the games begin.

  SEVENTEEN

  Rushing across KLUV’s parking lot, her heels slipping against loose gravel, Gabby noticed Robert’s car in its usual spot, and her breath caught. Had Robert woken up? She shoved open the double doors and crossed into the reception foyer.

  Loud voices echoed off the normally serene walls. Eric’s deep baritone vibrated throughout the station, followed by a woman’s sobs. Gabby strode toward Eric’s office. Although the door was closed, she didn’t bother to knock before entering.

  Eric stood behind his desk, his hair sticking up and gaze darting over the seated woman’s hunched form.

  Amber, with sobs shaking her body, was speaking. “You can’t ask me to—” Her words died as her glance shot to Gabby.

  The look in the woman’s stare froze Gabby to the core. Remorse, anger and perhaps fear soaked her tear-filled eyes. But there was something more lurking behind those irises…a true sign to Amber Ellison’s mental state—brokenness. Gabby should know—she’d seen it in her own reflection after Blake Riggsdale had finished with her.

  Dropping into the chair beside Amber, Gabby threw an arm around the other woman’s shoulders. “Amber, what is it? Has something happened with Robert?”

  She sniffled and shrugged off Gabby’s arm before jumping to her feet. “I just can’t do this. Not now. Not here. Not…” Her glance moved to Eric’s, where it lingered for a moment before she jerked her stare back to Gabby. “I just can’t. I’m sorry.” Without another word, she fled from the room.

  Gabby stood.

  “Just let her go.” Eric’s quiet words halted her.

  “What were you two arguing about?”

  His face flushed a brighter red. “Nothing. She’s just emotion
al.”

  “No, I heard you yelling when I came in. What about?” Gabby crossed her arms.

  For a split second, anger slipped across his features. In a blink of an eye, it was gone again. Had she imagined it? “She just refuses to pick up Robert’s personal stuff. That’s what I’d asked her to do. For Mr. McKay.”

  Suspicions receded partially. Gabby remained wary as she dropped her hands to the desk. “Oh.” She glanced at the computer screen behind him. “Is there a problem with payroll?”

  He spun around and clicked on the computer keyboard. “Trying to figure things out. I think Robert might’ve been embezzling money.”

  “What? You’re mistaken.” Robert wouldn’t embezzle money. No way.

  “Well, Robert made three different large withdrawals over the past six months.” His fingers flew over the keys. “One for fifty thousand dollars and two for twenty-five.”

  She sank back into the chair, rubbing her chin. Why would Robert take out so much money? They hadn’t bought anything new for the station in years. “Maybe he used that money to buy back Howard’s shares of the station?”

  “I don’t think so. Deposits were made regularly every month into the account. The only checks drawn out each month were legit—payroll, advertising and the like. Then, six months ago, a cash withdrawal was made on the account, followed by the other two.”

  It didn’t make sense. “What was the balance in the account before the cash withdrawals began?”

  “Fifty-six thousand and some change.” He rolled his shoulders, his bones popping.

  “On average, what was the running balance in the account before these withdrawals?”

  The clicks came faster, and louder. Or maybe that was just her perception.

  “Between fifty and sixty thousand. Deposits were made regularly, as they should, but once the balance hit near the sixty-thousand mark, the withdrawal hit. Then the balance would go back up with deposits.” He sighed. “And another withdrawal would put the balance back below ten thousand.”