As men and as cops they had learned to play their cards close to the vest and keep emotions to themselves. Ted hadn’t told him much about the woman he was marrying but Jake could hear the emotion in his friend’s voice. The feelings were there—powerful and deep—and it wasn’t necessary for them to go through the uncomfortable ritual of talking about them.
The wedding was in a couple of days and Jake planned on heading down the mountain in the morning after he got back from checking the trailhead. While Eagle’s Eye was remote, he was never really alone. The area wasn’t without inhabitants. There was Claybe Fowler, his nearest neighbor in the Forest Service, who manned the Cedar Canyon Ranger Station located eight thousand feet below at the base of the mountain. And during Jake’s regular trips to Vega Flats, its motley crew of residents had all become his friends. Of course, during the summer months there were hikers and mountain bikers, campers and even a handful of hunters and fishermen about, and with the help of the tower’s state-of-the-art communications and computer system, he also managed to keep in touch with the outside world. He talked to Ted, his co-workers, his mom and his sister on a regular basis via his ham radio and his cell phone, when he could catch a signal. The satellite dish gave him more television channels than he could count and, of course, there was the radio and Jane—Dear Jane.
So, while isolated, he hadn’t exactly been alone the last three years. And while he didn’t relish the thought of going back to L.A., he owed it to Ted.
“Go to sleep,” he ordered himself, rolling onto his side and pulling the comforter around him close.
He let his mind drift, thinking back over the stories he’d listened to tonight on the radio. He wondered just how many of them were real and how many were made up just to get on the air.
He thought of Dear Jane’s soft purring voice. Would he make up something just to get on the air with her? Or would he need to? If he were to tell her about Valerie, about Ricky and how responsible he felt for his death, what would her advice to him be?
“I know you’re there Jane, I can hear you breathing. Oh Jane, dear Jane, it’s okay, you don’t have to say anything—you got plenty said on the radio tonight. It’s my turn now. You can listen to me for a change.
“Did you get my letter? If you read it you will know it won’t be long now. I’ll find you. I’ll find you and the—”
Her hand shook as she flipped the call button, cutting off the caller. The ringing in her ears was almost deafening and her heart beat so fast in her chest it was almost painful.
“Hey, you okay?”
“Hmm…wh-what?” She looked up into Dale’s kind, round face. “Y-yes, I’m fine. Why?”
“I don’t know, you look a little pale.” Her producer regarded her for a moment, his gaze narrowing. “That was him, wasn’t it? It was that psycho again. He used the call-in line, the son of a—”
“He just wanted to let me know he’d been listening.”
Dale reached for the telephone receiver.
“No, please,” she said, stopping him with a hand on his.
“We need to report this.”
“It was just more of the same stuff as before, just him getting his jollies—nothing new.”
“But the cops are going to want to know.”
“And I’ll tell them, I promise. Just not tonight. I’m exhausted and they’ll keep me here answering questions until dawn.”
He picked up the phone, offering it to her. “Call them.”
“He’s on tape, they can listen in the morning.”
“They told you to report every time he called.”
“I will, I promise,” she insisted, taking the phone and lowering it onto the cradle. “First thing tomorrow.”
Dale drew in a deep breath and gave her a skeptical look. “If you don’t, I will.”
“I will,” she vowed with mock seriousness, raising a hand. “Scout’s honor.”
Dale made a face, and pushed away from the desk. “I got a bottle in my desk drawer. Feel like a drink?”
“No, that’s okay. I’ve got a long drive home.”
“Well, if you change your mind,” Dale said, heading for the door, “give me a shout.”
“I’ll do that.”
At the door Dale stopped and turned back to her. “And let me know when you’re ready to leave. I don’t want you walking out to your car by yourself.”
She nodded. “Yes, Mother.”
Dale snorted and shook his head. “You amaze me, sitting there so cool and calm. Doesn’t it bother you knowing that nut’s out there somewhere?”
“Sure it bothers me. But you said it yourself, he’s a nut and more than likely he’s probably harmless,” she said, feeling her throat grow tight. “Although I admit, I’ll feel a lot better when the police have him behind bars.”
Dale smiled. “Believe me, we all will.”
She laughed, but as Dale pulled the studio door closed behind him she let the smile fade from her lips. She glanced down at her hands, balling them into tight fists to stop them from shaking. She felt sick—shaky and sick—and it would take more than one drink for her to forget that horrible voice over the line.
“Don’t think about it. Just don’t think about it,” she mumbled aloud.
She closed her eyes, pressure throbbing painfully at her temples, and squeezed her fists even tighter. Her nails bit into the flesh of her palms but she didn’t care—anything to stop the shaking.
Who was she kidding? She wouldn’t be able to get down enough alcohol to get that raspy, mocking voice out of her head. Besides, she had a client coming in early tomorrow. It was hard enough balancing a private counselling practice with a nightly radio program without throwing a hangover into the mix. Still, it might be worth a try. She could call her partner to cover for her and lose herself in a couple of bottles of wine.
She rubbed her fists against her temples, slowly massaging. If only Dale knew how terrified she really was—if only everyone did. But she was determined no one ever would. She was not going to allow herself to give in to the fear—she didn’t dare. Keeping up a front was the only way she could cope. Besides, maybe if she pretended long enough the awful fear really would go away… only that hadn’t happened yet.
When the letters first started showing up in the mailbag eight months ago, she hadn’t been too concerned. After all, she received so much mail at the station it was only natural there would be a few crackpots in the bunch. But after several weeks, when the letters turned to phone calls, and the phone calls turned threatening, she’d gotten very concerned—and so had everyone else.
How foolish she had been in the beginning—and how naive. But he’d seemed so harmless at first, she’d honestly thought she might be able to talk some sense into the guy. She had taken those early calls, listening as he rambled
