Dead Air (11 page)

“If it’s that good, then I’ll have it, as well.” He laid his menu down atop hers, and took her hand in his. “Now, tell me everything there is to know about Gabby Rogillio.”

How could she think when his thumb caressed her knuckles? She licked her lips. “Um, I thought we’d already covered all these bases.”

“There’s more to you than just those facts.” He leaned forward, his eyes hypnotizing her. “Tell me why you love cars.”

Good. Safe subject. “My brother, Antonio, loves refurbishing classics.” She shrugged. “Growing up, he always had a heap of junk, as Mama called them, parked in the yard. Always planning
on fixing them up and selling them.” Her lips curled up at the memories. “I guess it rubbed off on me a little.”

The waiter appeared with a basket of bread and their drinks. Gabby pulled her hand back into her lap as Clark gave their orders. She reached for a piece of bread and lifted the butter knife. “What about you?”

He slipped her an easy smile. “What about me?”

“Tell me about your life before Mystique.” She took a bite of the warm bread, savoring the yeasty taste.

Clark blinked, then his eyes stayed in a wide, caught-in-headlights kind of look. “Not much to tell.”

Why the panic flashing across his face like a neon sign? He stared into her eyes. “I think I’m going to love being in Mystique, though.”

The bread felt like lead in her stomach. “How do you like your new house?” The words nearly choked her. She should tell him it was her dream house. She should, but it was too close to her heart. Too personal. How could she share with him when he wouldn’t open up with her? She took a deep breath and remembered her talk with Immy. Maybe he just needed more time.

“The place needs some minor repairs and updating, but I’m looking forward to the work.”

“It’s a beautiful place.” She blinked back the stinging tears.

“I’d love for you to see what I’m doing with it. I want to restore it to its full, original glory.”

Words wouldn’t form. She shoved another piece of bread into her mouth and nodded.

Didn’t he see this was ripping her heart out? “Sure.” Was she stupid?

The waiter stopped by their table, took their order, refilled their drink glasses, then faded into the background.

“Are you and your brother close?”

She took a sip. “We are. I love Antonio, don’t get me wrong, but it’s nice to be out from under his watchful eyes.”

“A bit overprotective?”

Gabby laughed. “He’s an Italian big brother—what do you think?”

“So, it might be a good thing he’s not here. Now.” His eyes turned serious.

If she didn’t blink, she’d swear she could see her future in his shiny orbs. She swallowed, then reached for her glass. Frissons of fear mingled with excitement spidered up her spine.

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” His voice hitched.

No, but he did. Only because her emotions were as traitorous as Benedict Arnold.

Before Clark could say any more, Sheriff McGruder ambled up alongside their table. Gabby let out a silent sigh. Couldn’t she just enjoy a nice evening with a gentleman without someone intruding?

“Gabby. Mr. McKay,” the sheriff interrupted with a nod to each of them. “Sorry to disturb you.”

Clark made a movement of pushing back his chair.

“Don’t bother to get up, Mr. McKay,” Sheriff McGruder said in his gruff voice as he gestured for Clark to remain seated. “I just had a question I needed to ask you.”

Leaning back into his chair, Clark ran a hand over his chin. “Okay.”

The sheriff jammed his thumb through his belt loop. “When we uncovered the note yesterday threatening you and—” he looked over at Gabby “—someone else, why didn’t you tell me about the threats made on your life back in Philadelphia? That you were told they’d get you—no matter where you ran.”

Gabby’s throat tightened. Someone had threatened him and
her?
Why hadn’t he said anything? Surely he wouldn’t keep something like that from her. McGruder had to be mistaken.

There was no mistake. Clark’s expression, with hooded eyes and guilty flushing, told her there wasn’t any mistake. He looked like…like…Blake. Her heart slithered to her toes as she pushed to her feet. Her chair tilted precariously for a moment, then toppled backward to the plush burgundy carpeting.

Clark shoved to his feet, as well.

“Don’t bother,” she snapped with all the iciness she could muster into her voice. With knees that threatened to give way, Gabby turned and stomped determinedly out the door of the restaurant.

The salt-filled breeze kissed her face, but she ignored it. This could be the key to finding the killer, yet all Gabby could think of was that Clark hadn’t trusted her enough to tell her the truth. Something fishy was going on here, and it had nothing to do with the Gulf nestled several hundred yards away.

Gabby didn’t know exactly what was going on, but as long as there was breath left in her body, she intended to find out.

If only her heart didn’t shatter at the realization that another man she’d started to care for had betrayed her trust.

Just like Blake.

T
he dagger of betrayal Gabby’s eyes had shoved into Clark’s heart twisted as she rushed away. He moved to follow her, but the sheriff laid a hand on his shoulder.

“Best let her cool off a bit.”

Clark slumped into his chair and raked his hand across his face. What must Gabby think of him now? The date had been going so well, too. Disappointment coiled in the pit of his stomach.

“So, you gonna answer my question?”

“What?” He jerked his head up and focused on the arrogant lawman still hovering beside the table.

“Why didn’t you tell me about the threats?”

“The police in Philly found them to be without intent. Nothing ever happened, so the threats must’ve been just that—threats.” Clark shrugged. “But I’m guessing you’ve already talked to the police and already know all this.”

“Uh-huh.” Sheriff McGruder shifted his weight, his battered cowboy boots scuffing the polished floor. “But didn’t you think you should’ve mentioned it?”

“I guess. Honestly, I didn’t see a connection.”

“Even after your brakes were cut? Your house trashed? Don’t make a lick of sense to me.”

“I’m not you,” Clark ground out, then pressed his lips to
gether. No reason to alienate the local authorities, even if the sheriff did reek of small-town inadequacies. “Look, to be honest, I didn’t even think about the threats. They were in reaction to a controversial story my paper covered, trying to scare me off. It didn’t work. Why would the people who threatened me then choose to act
now
when they didn’t follow through on their threats at the time?”

“Those threats the reason you ran away from the big city?”

Nosy, that’s what the man was. Yet, Clark couldn’t afford to not be open and honest. Already his lack of being forthright had turned Gabby against him. “Not exactly.” How could he explain the betrayal he felt? “After I ran a controversial story, some people turned against me, tried to destroy my credibility. I eventually cleared my name and the reputation of my paper. But some of the people who smeared me were supposedly my friends, my supporters…well, when they jumped on the bandwagon against me, I—”

“Ah.” Sheriff McGruder gave a knowing nod. “Yep, that’ll make you hightail it for parts unknown for sure.” He clapped Clark on the shoulder. “I’ll see you around.”

“Yes.” Great, so the sheriff understood. But how could he explain things to Gabby? His breath hitched.

God, what can I do to make this right?

I’m just eat up with stupidity
.

Gabby stumbled from the restaurant parking lot, blinking back angry tears. Why hadn’t she trusted her gut instincts to be leery of Clark? A Yankee up and moving to Mystique should have made her keep her distance. Her intuition had all but written in the sky that Clark was just like Blake. Had she just wanted to be deceived? Had she played right into Clark’s hand?

Gravel in the parking lot crunched as her steps punctuated her
emotions. She turned onto Sea Swept Lane, marching toward her apartment complex. One of the best things about living in such a small town was that nearly everything existed in walking distance.

A gentle breeze danced along the street, the thick aroma of the Gulf wafting through town. The tears wouldn’t be denied any longer, springing from her eyes and streaking down her face. The wind dried them on her cheek.

How could she have been so blind, so led astray by a handsome stranger’s charm? She’d allowed herself to be swayed by Clark’s intense eyes and crooked dimples. Plain stupid, that’s what she’d been. Gabby stomped her foot a bit harder, the loose rocks from the edge of the road bumpy under her flats. She’d let her head be turned, just as she had with Blake, but she wouldn’t any longer.

Gabby plodded up the stairs to her apartment. She dug out her key from her purse and unlocked the door. She jerked off the sundress and pulled on jeans and a T-shirt.

God, why can’t I come out ahead, just once?

Flicking the tears away, Gabby shoved off the pity-party mentality. Feeling sorry for herself wasn’t going to help anyone, least of all her.

She mulled things over. So, there had been threats. And the sheriff found out about them. And what was the connection to her?

Gabby jumped into her rental and headed into work. Within minutes, she headed west on Shannon Street. As she passed Sam’s Steakhouse, she couldn’t resist checking the parking lot for Clark’s car. Sure enough, parked in the same space as before, the red Mercedes sparkled under the restaurant’s security lights.

Gabby gunned the accelerator. The faster she got to the station, the quicker she could begin her search and the sooner she could get some answers. She parked the rental in her regular spot, took a moment to note Eric’s car wasn’t there and locked the vehicle before yanking open the door to KLUV.

Immediately, the soft tunes coming out of the in-house speakers soothed her raw nerves. She truly loved the sweet love ballads, the harmony and slower rhythm.

On her way down the hall, she nodded at David Gray in the studio booth. Gabby grabbed her call-in forms, stowed her purse in her locker, then carried her laptop and slipped into the studio where David gave his promo ending.

He slipped off the headset and queued up the station identification announcement that would run on air for nine minutes with the added commercial loops. “How goes it, Gabby?”

“Good, good. How’re things with you?”

David stood and stretched. “Just wondering if we’re all gonna be standing in the unemployment line before all this mess is over and done.” He grabbed his coffee mug and moved from behind the desk.

Gabby shook her head. Poor David, he had a wife and five—count ’em, five—kids who depended on him. Depended on his job at the station for income. For the first time, she realized how fortunate they were that Clark had taken over. If Robert had still been the owner at the time of the attack against him and Howard, who knows how things would have gone. Clark had stepped in just enough to assure Mystique that KLUV was still up and running, and had then stepped back to let them do their jobs. She was grateful for that…if it lasted. But now she was less sure than ever what Clark had planned.

“Eric was all worked up when he left earlier.” David rested his hand on the doorknob to the studio. “I wonder if Mr. McKay will scrap us all and bring in new personalities.” He threw her a lopsided smile. “We may soon be out of our jobs.”

The lump in Gabby’s throat seemed to expand. “I don’t think so.” But she couldn’t be sure. She didn’t really know Clark at all.

David’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah, well, we’ll see. ’Night, Gabby.” The door shut behind him with a final click.

She set up her laptop and then slipped the headset over her ears just as the commercial loop ended. After giving her opening spiel, she flipped on the first song before accessing the Internet. With a few clicks, Gabby had access to pages upon pages of information on none other than Clark McKay.

Amid the dedication calls and on-air segments, she continued her research. She clicked on yet another link, and her chest contracted. This was it—pay dirt. Hunching over the keyboard, Gabby read as fast as she could about the controversial story. Controversial was an understatement. He’d written an exposé about corruption in Pennsylvania’s state government. As a result of the story, several politicians had resigned. Gabby chewed her bottom lip.

She aired two more love dedications before turning back to the laptop. Clicking on another link, Gabby froze as a picture loaded on the page. It was Clark, looking very suave and debonair in a designer tuxedo…and a very beautiful woman, with her hand tucked into the crook of Clark’s arm. Gabby narrowed her eyes as she zoomed in on the fine print under the picture.

So he’d had to hire an attorney. Did he have to hire such a beautiful one? A hot, throbbing ache burned against Gabby’s side. She forced herself to scroll down the Web page. Nothing about any threats. Yet another photo loaded, and her lungs trapped her breath, holding it hostage. He looked so sad in the picture announcing the sale of his newspaper.

She went through the motions of announcing more dedications and then set the player to go through two songs and a com
mercial loop, but her mind remained focused on Clark McKay. And the threats?

What kind of threats were they anyway? Nothing reported about any threats. Not in any of the gazillion articles she scanned. Her frustration mounted as she searched.

The song ended, and Gabby looped into the station identification piece. After that, she flipped on the song waiting. A soft love ballad came over the airwaves and into the station. The phone line blinked. Gabby grabbed her pen and lifted the receiver. “KLUV, this is Gabby. Tell me what’s on your heart.”

“There’s this woman I’d really like to get to know better, but I think I’ve made her mad at me.” The man’s voice seemed familiar, but she couldn’t place it for certain. Surely it wouldn’t be Bubba Moncrief calling about Callie leaving him again.

“Did you do something to offend her?” Gabby kept her tone even.

“Not intentionally. You see, I kept some information from her, thinking I was protecting her.”

Not Bubba. Yet the voice was so memorable to her. But who? “Let me guess, she found out and disagreed?”

“That’s right. I never meant to hurt her, but I don’t know how to win back her trust.”

Recognition smacked her in the head. No, he couldn’t be calling her here, tonight, at work. Not now.

“Gabby?”

Oh, yeah, it was him. The insufferable Yankee. The man who seemed to live to thwart her chances at happiness.

“Mr. McKay, I’m at work. I’d appreciate you not calling me.”

“Wait! Gabby, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to keep things from you.”

“Did you call in for a dedication, sir?”

“What?”

“This is the dedication line.”

Silence filled the connection. Maybe he’d hung up on her. She hoped so. Then a loud sigh sounded. He was still there, waiting to pounce again. “Thank you for calling, sir.”

“Gabby—” Too late, she clicked off the connection.

The music faded, and Gabby clenched her teeth. Call and bother her at work, would he? Keep important information to himself, would he? Well, she would have the last word. At least for tonight.

She switched on her mic. “Mystique, I have a
very special
dedication going out tonight for a new resident to Mystique. Mr. Clark McKay, if you’re still listening, this one’s for you.”

The smile felt good. She pushed the button to start the music, and the recognizable beat of Nancy Sinatra’s “These Boots Are Made for Walkin’” oozed from the speakers.

If there was one thing she was certain about, it was that she could outwit any Yankee with her eyes closed.

The peppy song filled his living room. Clark glared at the stereo for a moment, then burst out laughing. Hearty and out loud. “These Boots Are Made for Walkin’”…very good. Game, set and match to Gabby. She’d bested him fair and square.

On this round.

She might have won the battle—and won it well, he had to concede—but the war had just begun. And Clark intended to be victorious.

Despite Gabby Rogillio.

“So, tell me what happened. I’ve never heard you use your position for personal agendas.” Immy’s stern voice echoed over the phone.

“Thanks.” Gabby sniffed, then proceeded to fill her friend in on what she’d learned.

“I can’t believe he didn’t tell me. I had to find it out from Sheriff McGruder.” Her heart cracked at the thought of Clark’s betrayal, and her stupidity in allowing herself to be deceived.

“Great day in the morning, Gab. Maybe he just hadn’t found a chance to tell you.”

“And yet he had time to hear about my brother’s obsession with cars?” Gabby shook her head. “I think not. He should have told me. Especially if the threats involved me this time.”

“Look, Gab, I don’t know what’s going on. I don’t have the answers. But I do know people, and I know you.” Immy sighed over the phone. “And I love you, Gabby Rogillio, but you and I both know you’re quick to anger and judge.”

Gabby opened her mouth to protest, but stopped. Was that the truth?

A light lit up on the phone.

“Immy, I’ve got calls coming in. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

She pressed the flashing button on the phone. “KLUV, this is Gabby. Do you have a dedication?”

“Stop looking into Howard’s murder.” The male voice crept over the line.

Her heart raced. “Who is this?”

“Stop, or else.” An abrupt click snapped against her ear.

Another warning? Even McGruder couldn’t deny the connection this time. She lifted the receiver again, this time punching in the number for the sheriff’s office.

Her mind attempted to wrap around everything. Whoever slashed her tires and called her had to be the killer. Was it the same person who cut Clark’s brake lines and vandalized his house? But how could that tie into the problems Clark had faced before? A Philadelphia criminal would have no reason to hurt Howard or Robert.

After a moment, Sheriff McGruder came on the line. Gabby
told him about the call, sure he’d see reason. But he didn’t. He told her he’d file a report, but there wasn’t much he could do about an obscene phone call. His voice told her that he didn’t really believe her.

The warning alarm signaled the end of the commercial loop. Gabby slammed down the phone and aired two more dedications. Time to get serious. Someone was threatening
her
now.

And she didn’t like it.