hand on her shoulder, she bolted out of the chair. “Easy, O’Roarke. I brought you some tea.”
Her heart was like a trip-hammer in her chest. As it slowed, she lowered to the table. “What?”
“Tea,” he repeated, offering her a cup. “I brought you some tea. You drink too much coffee. This is herbal. Jasmine or something.”
She’d recovered enough to look at the cup in distaste. “I don’t drink flowers.”
“Try it. You might not hit the ceiling the next time someone touches you.” He sipped a soft drink out of the bottle.
“I’d rather have that.”
He took another sip, a long one, then passed the bottle to her. “You’re almost halfway there.”
Like Boyd, she looked at the clock. It was nearing midnight. This had once been her favorite leg of the show. Now, as she watched the second hand tick away, her palms began to sweat.
“Maybe he won’t call tonight, since he got me at home.”
He settled beside her again. “Maybe.”
“But you don’t think so.”
“I think we take it a step at a time.” He put a soothing hand at the back of her neck. “I want you to try to keep calm, keep him on the line longer. Ask questions. No matter what he says, just keep asking them, over and over. He may just answer one and give us something.”
She nodded, then worked her way through the next ten minutes. “There’s a question I want to ask you,” she said at length.
“All right.”
She didn’t look at him, but drained the last swallow of the cold drink to ease her dry throat. “How long will they let me have a babysitter?”
“You don’t have to worry about it.”
“Let’s just say I know something about how police departments work.” It was there in her voice again, that touch of bitterness and regret. “A few nasty calls don’t warrant a hell of a lot of attention.”
“Your life’s been threatened,” he said. “It helps that you’re a celebrity, and that there’s already been some press on it. I’ll be around for a while.”
“Mixed blessings,” she muttered, then opened the request line.
The call came, as she had known it would, but quickly this time. On call number five, she recognized the voice, battled back the urge to scream and switched to music. Without realizing it, she groped for Boyd’s hand.
“You’re persistent, aren’t you?”
“I want you dead. I’m almost ready now.”
“Do I know you? I like to think I know everyone who wants to kill me.”
She winced a little at the names he spewed at her and tried to concentrate on the steady pressure of Boyd’s fingers at the base of her neck.
“Wow. I’ve really got you ticked off. You know, buddy, if you don’t like the show, you’ve just got to turn it off.”
“You seduced him.” There was a sound of weeping now, fueled with fury. “You seduced him, tempted him, promised him. Then you murdered him.”
“I …” She was more shocked by this than by any of the gutter names he had called her. “Who? I don’t know what you’re talking about. Please, who—”
The line went dead.
As she sat there, dazed and silent, Boyd snatched up the phone. “Any luck? Damn it.” He rose,stuffed his hands in his pockets and began pacing. “Another ten seconds. We’d have had him in another ten seconds. He has to know we’ve got it tapped.” His head snapped around when Nick Peters entered, his hands full of sloshing coffee. “What?”
“I—I—I—” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “Mark said it was okay if I stayed through the show.” He swallowed again. “I thought Cilla might want some coffee.”
Boyd jerked a thumb toward the table. “We’ll let you know. Can you help her get through the rest of the show?”
“I don’t need help.” Cilla’s voice was icy-calm. “I’m fine, Nick. Don’t worry about it.” She put a steady hand on the mike. “That was for Chuck from Laurie, with all her love.” She aimed a steady look at Boyd before she punched the phone again.
Her heart was like a trip-hammer in her chest. As it slowed, she lowered to the table. “What?”
“Tea,” he repeated, offering her a cup. “I brought you some tea. You drink too much coffee. This is herbal. Jasmine or something.”
She’d recovered enough to look at the cup in distaste. “I don’t drink flowers.”
“Try it. You might not hit the ceiling the next time someone touches you.” He sipped a soft drink out of the bottle.
“I’d rather have that.”
He took another sip, a long one, then passed the bottle to her. “You’re almost halfway there.”
Like Boyd, she looked at the clock. It was nearing midnight. This had once been her favorite leg of the show. Now, as she watched the second hand tick away, her palms began to sweat.
“Maybe he won’t call tonight, since he got me at home.”
He settled beside her again. “Maybe.”
“But you don’t think so.”
“I think we take it a step at a time.” He put a soothing hand at the back of her neck. “I want you to try to keep calm, keep him on the line longer. Ask questions. No matter what he says, just keep asking them, over and over. He may just answer one and give us something.”
She nodded, then worked her way through the next ten minutes. “There’s a question I want to ask you,” she said at length.
“All right.”
She didn’t look at him, but drained the last swallow of the cold drink to ease her dry throat. “How long will they let me have a babysitter?”
“You don’t have to worry about it.”
“Let’s just say I know something about how police departments work.” It was there in her voice again, that touch of bitterness and regret. “A few nasty calls don’t warrant a hell of a lot of attention.”
“Your life’s been threatened,” he said. “It helps that you’re a celebrity, and that there’s already been some press on it. I’ll be around for a while.”
“Mixed blessings,” she muttered, then opened the request line.
The call came, as she had known it would, but quickly this time. On call number five, she recognized the voice, battled back the urge to scream and switched to music. Without realizing it, she groped for Boyd’s hand.
“You’re persistent, aren’t you?”
“I want you dead. I’m almost ready now.”
“Do I know you? I like to think I know everyone who wants to kill me.”
She winced a little at the names he spewed at her and tried to concentrate on the steady pressure of Boyd’s fingers at the base of her neck.
“Wow. I’ve really got you ticked off. You know, buddy, if you don’t like the show, you’ve just got to turn it off.”
“You seduced him.” There was a sound of weeping now, fueled with fury. “You seduced him, tempted him, promised him. Then you murdered him.”
“I …” She was more shocked by this than by any of the gutter names he had called her. “Who? I don’t know what you’re talking about. Please, who—”
The line went dead.
As she sat there, dazed and silent, Boyd snatched up the phone. “Any luck? Damn it.” He rose,stuffed his hands in his pockets and began pacing. “Another ten seconds. We’d have had him in another ten seconds. He has to know we’ve got it tapped.” His head snapped around when Nick Peters entered, his hands full of sloshing coffee. “What?”
“I—I—I—” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “Mark said it was okay if I stayed through the show.” He swallowed again. “I thought Cilla might want some coffee.”
Boyd jerked a thumb toward the table. “We’ll let you know. Can you help her get through the rest of the show?”
“I don’t need help.” Cilla’s voice was icy-calm. “I’m fine, Nick. Don’t worry about it.” She put a steady hand on the mike. “That was for Chuck from Laurie, with all her love.” She aimed a steady look at Boyd before she punched the phone again.
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