she stared at the white tiles marching across the ceiling. If Denning wanted her to get some rest, he should send her home.
When the phone rang, she considered ignoring it. The last thing she needed was more sympathy from her family or another round with Peter Eckhart.
Peter, her boss and editor at the Denver Tattler, had expressed the same concerns as her father and brothers, but once satisfied Cassie was all right, he’d focused on her articles. His emotions had roller-coastered from fear she wouldn’t finish on time to elation over the possibility for a dramatic conclusion to the series.
Cassie didn’t blame him. He was only doing his job. But the thought of another such conversation stayed her hand. Five rings later she decided the caller wasn’t giving up. With a sigh she rolled toward the metal nightstand and lifted the receiver.
“Cassandra Bowers?”
Cassie had always hated her given name, and no one used it but her father. No one, she amended, except Luke, and he only did when he wanted to get a rise out of her. The certainty that this wasn’t Pop or Luke cooled her response several degrees. “Yes?”
“How’s your head?”
“Okay.” Her head felt like a helium-filled balloon, although she’d be darned if she’d admit it. Easing it back onto the pillow, she began a tally of tile holes.
“Such a tragic accident. A woman isn’t safe anywhere these days.”
The slight emphasis on the word tragic caught her attention, halting her tile-hole count. “Who is this?”
“Just call me a…concerned citizen.”
The caller’s chuckle gave Cassie the uncomfortable feeling she’d missed a joke. She shifted the phone to her other ear. Wishing she’d refused the painkiller the nurse had brought half an hour ago, she tried to focus on the raspy whisper.
“A smart girl like you should be more careful.”
Why was everyone always telling her to be careful? First her father and brothers, then Luke, now some crackpot with a frog in his throat. It wasn’t as though she went looking for trouble.
“Course, some people claim there’s no such thing as an accident. They talk about being stupid, sticking your nose in where it doesn’t belong.”
Borrowed trouble. That’s what her father had once called her job, and she’d denied it, laughing. I’m only reporting trouble, not borrowing it, she’d answered. She wanted to laugh now, but instead, a chill trickled along her spine.
“Play it safe. I’d hate to see more accidents happen.”
The caller’s voice droned on, scraping her nerves like a nail file against sensitive fingertips.
“…to your car some morning on the turnpike or to that cute little dog…”
A noose seemed to tighten around her neck, cutting off her air. Whoever this was, he knew far too much. About her. About the assault. About her life. An inner voice urged her to slam down the phone, slice off the rambling monologue, yet some contrary part of Cassie’s brain wouldn’t let her.
It took Luke, who chose that instant to walk in, to end the one-sided conversation. One glimpse of her frozen expression and, without a word, he pulled the phone from her numb fingers. He listened for only a minute, then carefully returned the receiver to its cradle. For long seconds he stared at the instrument, the muscles of his jaw clenched. From the hall came a burst of laughter.
“Recognize the voice?”
Cassie shivered, recalling the hoarse whisper. Mutely she shook her head.
Luke dragged a chair to the side of the bed and straddled it. Hooking an arm over the padded vinyl back, he took her limp hand in a grasp that belied the careful control of his voice. “What did he say?”
Warmth radiated into her cold fingers, giving her courage to relate what she remembered in a matter-of-fact tone. The caller had upset her more than she cared to admit. Now, reading Luke’s obvious concern, she experienced something she thought she’d long ago purged from her heart.
You’re a case, nothing more, she reminded herself. But as her fear slowly ebbed, she confronted the truth. Much as she hated to admit it, Luke’s presence made her feel a little safer.
“How many people did you call today?” Luke asked.
Puzzled, she met his intent gaze. “Dad and my editor. What difference—”
“The creep knows your name, knows you’re here. Since the papers and TV kept quiet, someone you talked to—” For an instant his grip tightened painfully.
Cassie’s sense of well-being disappeared in a wave of indignation. Pointedly she withdrew her hand from his grasp. “Now I’ve heard everything. Some kook calls and it’s my fault? What about reporters, police, ambulance drivers—even the coroner’s office? Anybody could have mentioned the murder, mentioned my name.”
“True,” he conceded with obvious reluctance. “But it’s obvious that someone—”
“Next, you’ll be saying this whole thing—” she motioned to her bandaged head, irritation smoldering “—wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t been working on a series on local drug trade.”
“It wouldn’t have.” He ignored her scowl, picked up the phone and punched in a number.
Trust Luke to be literal, she thought resentfully as he filled Chief Bradley in on her call. Following his logic, if she hadn’t been working on the articles, Judge Wainright wouldn’t have called and she’d never have gone to the Justice Center that night! And if Thomas Wainright hadn’t been a good friend of her father’s, she might never have gotten his cooperation. And if Pop had never been a judge, himself… Well, she could go on forever.
She tuned back in to Luke’s fractured conversation in time to hear him deliver a curt “Yes, sir” before hanging up. His use of the phrase, more than the clipped tone, told her he wasn’t pleased with whatever the chief had said, though his carefully schooled expression told her nothing.
“Bradley wants someone with you when you go home tomorrow.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I can get myself home.”
“Getting you home’s not the problem. It’s what happens after you’re there.”
“Are you talking surveillance?”
Luke nodded. “Routine patrol, at the least. Possible round-the-clock if he can find the manpower.”
Cassie’s heart sank. Even she could see the sense. She was the sole witness to a murder, living alone. But the thought of strangers invading her home, watching her every move… No. She wouldn’t stand for it.
“Maybe your father or one of your brothers could stay—”
“You’ve got to be kidding!” She didn’t dare tell him she’d already turned down the same suggestion over the phone four different times today. While she loved her family dearly, their concern was stifling. No,
