Lisa Jackson's Bentz & Montoya Bundle

by Lisa Jackson

  “Glad I caught you in.”

  She froze. Her heart missed a beat. “Who is this?” she said, but recognized the smooth, sexy voice immediately. John. Out there lurking somewhere. He hadn’t given up. He was just biding his time. Waiting for her to feel relaxed.

  “Don’t play games, Samantha. You know who I am.”

  “You’re the one who’s playing games.”

  “Am I? I suppose I am. Are we having fun yet?”

  Sam wanted to slam down the receiver, but couldn’t sever the connection, not if she ever wanted to nail this creep. Motioning frantically to Tiny and the recorder, she kept talking. “I wouldn’t call it fun, John,” she said, hoping that Melanie and Tiny would catch on. “Not fun at all.”

  “I caught your program tonight.”

  Spurred into action, Tiny pressed the right buttons and gave her a quick nod as the recorder began taping. Melanie stared at the speaker phone as if mesmerized.

  “But you didn’t phone in.”

  “I’m calling now,” he pointed out in his well-modulated voice.

  Had she heard it before? Had he called her without claiming to be John? Was it someone she knew? Think, Sam, think! This creep acts like he knows you. As if you’ve met.

  “I wanted to talk to you alone. What we need to discuss is personal.”

  “I don’t even know who you are.”

  His chuckle was deep and rumbled through the room.

  Melanie bit her lip.

  Tiny’s eyes bulged behind his glasses.

  The booth seemed close and dark and dangerous, the sound emanating from the speaker pure sin. Sweat prickled on Sam’s scalp.

  “Sure you do, Doctor, you just don’t remember. Aren’t you putting two and two together yet? You with your degree and all…”

  “What is it you want?” she asked, taking a seat and staring at the speaker as if she could will a vision of his face to appear. “Why are you calling me?” She could barely think, but she knew she had to keep him on the line. She grabbed a pen from a cup on the desk, flipped over the log and scratched out a quick note—CALL POLICE—that she shoved under Melanie’s nose.

  “Because I know you for what you are, Samantha. I know that you’re a hot-blooded cunt. A phony. That degree you’re so proud of isn’t worth the paper it’s printed on.” He was getting angry now, his well-modulated voice becoming agitated. “Women like you need to be punished.” His words reverberated through the speaker more rapidly, as Melanie hurried out of the room and into the studio next door. Through the glass window, Sam saw her hit the lights and pick up the headset. She glanced over her shoulder and nodded as she punched a free line, quickly dialed and nodded back to Sam and Tiny. The corresponding light for line three flashed to life.

  Keep him on the line, Sam, just keep him talking. Maybe he’ll slip up. Maybe the police will arrive, maybe there’s a way to trace the call.

  “You’re a whore, Dr. Sam,” John charged. “A fifty-dollar-an-hour hooker!”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Try to remain calm. Keep him on the damned line. Find out more about him, record it for the police. Her palms were sweaty, her heart thundering.

  “It’s all in your past, Dr. Sam, that past you hide from the world. But I know. I was there. I remember when you were out selling it on the streets. You’re a hooker—a fake—and you’ll pay. The wages of sin are death,” he reminded her coldly. “And you’re gonna die. You’re gonna die soon.”

  She swallowed back her fear, her fingers clamping around the pen in her hand. Who is he? Why is he so angry? What does he mean he “was there.” Where, damn it? “Why are you threatening me, John? What did I ever do to you?”

  “Don’t you know? Don’t you remember?” he nearly yelled.

  Annie’s words earlier—Don’t you remember me?

  “No. Why don’t you tell me? Where did we meet?” she said, her voice somehow steady though she could barely breathe. Her skin was hot, her insides cold as death.

  John didn’t say a word. That was creepier still. Knowing he was there, listening, not speaking. Through the glass window, Sam caught Melanie’s gaze. She was talking and nodding, gesturing with her hands as if the police could see through the phone lines.

  “John, are you still there?”

  “Are you on a speaker phone?” he asked suddenly. “It’s echoing.”

  “Listen, John, why are you calling me—” The phone rang loudly and line four flashed impatiently. Sam ignored it. “What is it that you want from me?”

  “You are, you lying cunt. You’re on a speaker. I thought I told you I wanted this to be personal!”

  “It is, believe me. Now, tell me, John, what is it you want from me?”

  “Retribution,” he said. “I want you on your knees. I want you to beg for forgiveness.”

  “For what?”

  But the line went dead. As if he’d heard the incoming call and gotten scared. “Damn,” Sam swore, trembling inside. Feeling weak. Vulnerable. Violated. Don’t let him do this to you. Don’t let him get to you. But the hatred she’d felt, the rage he had against her was horrifying.

  “I got it all,” Tiny assured her, as she hit the button for line four.

  “WSLJ.”

  “Dammit, Sam, is that you? What the hell’s going on over there? You were supposed to call me back.” Eleanor’s voice bellowed from the speaker phone. “Are you all okay?”

  “We’re fine.”

  “That was some weird stuff on the phone tonight,” Eleanor said. “I couldn’t believe it when that girl saying she was Annie Seger called.” There was pause as Eleanor drew in a breath. “Sam, tell me you’re okay.”

  “I think I already did.”

  “Yeah, but I remember what happened. I was there, y’know. In Houston.”

  Suddenly self-conscious that Tiny was hearing every bit of this conversation, probably was recording it, Sam cut Eleanor off. “Look, we’re all tired. Let’s not go into it now. I’ll come into the station early tomorrow and we’ll talk. There are other things we’re going to have to go over.”

  “Other things?” Eleanor’s voice was instantly wary.

  “The other prank caller, the guy who calls himself John, phoned in after the program again. I just hung up.”

  “After the show? What’s that all about?”

  “I don’t know, but it’s the second time he called once the program’s gone off the air. As if that somehow makes it more personal, I guess. The first time he said he was busy, and I was to blame. This time he didn’t offer up any excuses for not calling during the show, got really upset when he realized I was using a speaker phone and became threatening. Tiny’s got everything on tape. We’ll listen to it tomorrow.”

  “I don’t like it, Sam. Not at all.”

  “Neither do I.”

  “We’ll have to call the police again.”

  “Melanie just did.” She glanced through the window and saw Melanie nodding, still gesturing as she talked into the microphone. “It’s handled.”

  “My ass! This has gone way too far, you hear me. Way too far. Now, I don’t want any of you walking outside alone tonight, okay? Go in a group to the parking garage. Be sure Tiny’s with you or take a cab. Y’all hear me?”

  “Loud and clear,” Sam said, as Melanie hung up in the other room.

  “I’m serious, Sam. I don’t like this garbage.”

  “Me, neither.”

  “You tell the police they’d better figure out how to catch this bastard, or they’ll have to deal with me.”

  “That’ll get them shivering in their boots.”

  “Hey, I have no time for jokes. This is serious.”

  “I know, Eleanor.”

  “Good.”

  “And tomorrow, we are gonna get to the bottom of it. All of us. Tiny, Melanie and you are to meet me in my office at one in the afternoon.” She let out a breath. “Mother of God. Be careful. I’ll see ya tomorrow.”

  “We’ll be there,” Sam
said, and hung up as Melanie charged into the room.

  “The police are on their way.” She glanced at the speaker phone. “Did he say anything else?”

  “The guy’s a maniac,” Tiny said. “It was weird. Beyond weird.”

  “You’ve got that right.”

  Rubbing the back of his neck anxiously, Tiny added, “I’d better go down and wait for the cops.” He grabbed his jacket and backpack, was searching for his pack of Camels as he walked out the door.

  “What now?” Melanie asked.

  “We wait. For the police.”

  “I know, but I don’t think they can do anything.”

  Sam wasn’t going there, wasn’t going to give in to her own thoughts that John would somehow escape being found out and apprehended by the police. “Let’s just hope they catch this guy and soon.”

  “And if they don’t?” Melanie asked.

  Sam didn’t answer. Didn’t want to think about it, but the caller’s threats echoed through her mind as surely as if he was whispering in her ear.

  The wages of sin are death, and you’re gonna die. You’re gonna die soon.

  He was sweating.

  His blood pounding, the heat of the night heavy and damp.

  The conversation burning through his brain as he walked briskly from the phone booth along St. Charles Avenue. Through parked cars he jaywalked, crossing the streetcar rails and hurrying past the universities—Tulane and Loyola, side by side, brick-and-stone structures that appeared in the dim light of the security lamps as fortresses, castles built in honor of almighty academia. His skin prickled as he glanced at the buildings. He could smell the sweet seductive scent of young minds. Just as his had once been.

  College.

  Philosophy.

  Religion.

  Where he had learned the truth; where he had understood his mission. Where it had all begun.

  Oh, his mentor would be proud.

  A few students wandered the great expanse of lawn talking, laughing, smoking, probably getting high. Warm light glowed from some of the windows, but he barely noticed as he ducked through the shadows, half-running, his heart pounding, her words ricocheting like hot bullets through his brain.

  Why are you threatening me, John? What did I ever do to you?

  She didn’t remember.

  Didn’t recall the horror that had changed his life—ruined it.

  Rage screamed through his blood, and he broke into a jog, running faster toward the heart of the city, toward the siren song of Bourbon Street, where he could blend into the crowd that forever walked the city streets, where he could hide in the throng and yet be nearer to her.

  What did I ever do to you?

  Soon she’d know.

  Soon she’d understand.

  It would be her last thought before she died.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “…if you think of anything else, let us know,” one of the two officers who took Sam’s statement said, as he and his partner left the kitchen of WSLJ, where Sam, Melanie and Tiny had given their statements. Tiny had been in and out of the reception area, checking the prerecorded program, making sure that everything was running smoothly.

  “God, I’m glad that’s over.” Melanie grabbed her purse and briefcase. “What a marathon.”

  “They’re just being thorough.”

  “Think they’ll catch anyone?” Tiny asked as he rummaged in the cupboards, found a bag of popcorn and set it inside the microwave.

  “I can only hope,” Sam said around a yawn. Bone-tired, she didn’t want to think about either of the callers for the rest of the night. It was nearly three in the morning. All she wanted to do was drive home, fall into bed and close out the world. Her head was beginning to ache, her ankle starting to throb.

  “I think that popcorn belongs to Gator,” Melanie said, as Tiny pushed the timer.

  “He’ll never miss it. Are you guys all right to walk out of here alone?”

  “We’ll manage,” Sam said dryly. She couldn’t imagine Tiny as any kind of a protector. “Come on, let’s go, Melanie.” She gathered her things and the popcorn kernels started exploding over the hum of the microwave. The smell of butter filled the kitchen as she and Melanie made their way downstairs and outside the building.

  Ty was waiting for her. Parked illegally in front of the station at three in the morning, he leaned one jean-clad hip against the fender of his Volvo and stared at the door of the building as Sam and Melanie stepped into the warm summer night. His arms were folded over his chest, and even in the watery light from the streetlamp she noticed his jaw was dark with a couple days’ worth of beard. He was dressed in a T-shirt, jeans and leather jacket. Reminiscent of an older, more jaded James Dean. Great, she thought sarcastically. Just what I need. And yet a tiny thrill of anticipation swept through her.

  The smell of the river was close, the air heavy, the sound of a lonesome saxophone echoing over the quiet hum of what little traffic there was, and a man who had been a stranger little more than a week before was waiting for her.

  Ty pushed himself off the car. “I thought I’d come down and see that you were okay.”

  “I’m fine. Just dead on my feet,” she said, but couldn’t help feeling a little glow of warmth for him.

  To Melanie, he said, “Ty Wheeler. I’m Sam’s neighbor.”

  Sam belatedly found her manners as a car cruised past. Through the open window the sound of heavy bass thrummed from huge speakers. “Oh, right, Ty, this is Melanie Davis, my assistant, Melanie, Ty. He’s a writer who owns an old dog and buys broken-down sailboats.”

  Melanie gave him a quick once-over and offered a curious, friendly smile. “A writer? Like a journalist?”

  “Nothing so noble, I’m afraid,” he drawled. “Novels. Fiction.”

  “Really?” Melanie was impressed. “You’re published?”

  Ty’s smile flashed white in the darkness. “Hopin’ to be.”

  “What’s your book about?”

  “Kind of a Horse Whisperer meets The Silence of the Lambs. It’s got a farm theme running through it.”

  “Give me a break,” Sam said, and Melanie chuckled.

  “Actually, I thought I’d come down and see that you” —he touched Sam on the elbow—“were all right.”

  “Right as rain,” she lied.

  His fingers tightened before he dropped his hand and again she felt that ridiculous little glow. “So where’s the car?”

  “About two blocks over.” Despite all her talk about feminism and being a strong single woman, she was more at ease having Ty with them and rationalized that it wasn’t necessarily because he was a man, but that there was greater safety in numbers.

  “You’re the Ty who called in earlier tonight,” Melanie guessed, and Sam could almost see the wheels turning in her assistant’s mind as she remembered Ty’s questions about pushing a relationship to another level. “Oh…I get it.” Her eyes twinkled in the weak light.

  “Yep. I did call in,” he admitted. “Didn’t like what I was hearing on the airwaves, so I phoned the station to change the tone of things. After I hung up, I decided maybe Samantha would like a ride home. When I got here I saw the police car.”

  Melanie didn’t comment, just lifted a curious eyebrow as if trying to get a bead on Ty’s connection to Sam.

  “I think I’d better drive,” Sam said. “I don’t want to leave my car here and then not have a way into the city tomorrow.”

  “I’d drive you,” he offered, but Sam didn’t want to bother him, nor be dependent.

  “And I’d feel better having my own wheels.”

  “Whatever you want.” He shrugged. “But I’ll walk you to your car and you can drive me back to mine.”

  “You really don’t have to,” Sam said, but Melanie had different ideas.

  “Hey, he came all the way down here in the middle of the night to see that you were safe. Give the guy a break. Let him walk you—us.” She sounded almost envious, and Sam wondered where her boyfrie
nd was, the one she never talked about. Maybe they’d broken up. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time Melanie had fallen head over heels in love only to change her mind a few weeks later.

  “I’d feel better about it,” Ty said, as he fell into step with them. “As I said, I was listening to the program and caught that weird call. From Annie—whoever she was. It freaked you out.”

  “That wasn’t the half of it.” Though Sam would have preferred to tell Ty about “John’s” call later, at another time, Melanie was fairly bursting at the news and couldn’t hold her tongue. As they passed the wrought-iron fence encircling the thick shrubs of Jackson Square, Melanie eagerly explained that “John” had phoned the station once Sam had signed off.

  “So he’d rather talk to you alone,” Ty said solemnly as they crossed in front of St. Louis Cathedral. Lamplight splashed against the white facade. Three sharp spires knifed into the blackness of the night sky, reaching upward to heaven, the cross atop the highest steeple barely visible as it pierced the inky heavens. “What does he want?”

  “Retribution,” Melanie said.

  “For what?” Ty’s jaw tightened.

  Sam shook her head. “I don’t know.”

  “Your sins.” Melanie was reaching into her purse, jingling coins as she searched for her keys. “He’s always talking about your sins. It’s like he’s some…priest or something.” They reached the parking structure just as Melanie extracted her key ring. A dozen keys jangled. “I’m here on the first floor.” Unerringly she zeroed in on her little hatchback and unlocked the door. “Want a ride up?” she asked.

  “I’m just on two.” Sam didn’t need her assistant acting as if she were a wimp, and said sarcastically, “I think I can make it.”

  “I’ll walk her,” Ty added, and though apart of Samantha still wasn’t sure about her new neighbor, she really didn’t think he would do her any harm. He’d had plenty of opportunities when they were alone and no one had known they were together; it seemed unlikely, even if he was the caller, which she doubted, that he would risk attacking or kidnapping her when Melanie had seen them together. Besides, truth to tell, she felt safe with him…comfortable.