I'll Be Watching You Part 11

"In the studio," Jack replied. "Waiting for you. He's already got a line of call-ins queued up. It's going to be a busy night."

"Good. The busier, the better. I'm not up for a monologue tonight."

The program manager shot her a sympathetic glance. "Tough weekend?"

"The toughest."

Jack respected that and dropped the subject. "Okay, enough chitchat. Bill, break's over. You're back on in forty-five seconds. Taylor, grab a doughnut--or whatever's left of one--and head down to the booth."

Taylor gave him an appreciative look. "Is Rick around?"

"Yup. He's going over some audio details with Dennis." Dennis was a promising audio tech, a little shy, but being around this place for a while would change that. Besides, he had a few other newbies to commiserate with. Sally Carver was a perky blonde intern who was attending broadcasting school, hoping to get a jump start into the production end of the business. And James Birney was a freckled, charming guy with a degree in advertising who was working in sales, trying to help bring in new accounts.

As for Rick, he was just a great, all-around guy, who'd been having a tough time himself. His marriage was going down the tubes.

Taylor cleared her throat. "How's Rick doing? Are things any better?"

"Doesn't seem that way. He's not saying much."

"I'll go down there now." She glanced at the ravaged box of doughnuts, now a ma.s.s of crumbs and broken-off pieces, and rolled her eyes. "I'll pa.s.s on the snack." She headed off to her broadcasting booth, determined to maintain her newly established, if fragile, composure.

That resolution lasted less than a minute.

"Hi, Kev," Taylor greeted her producer as she walked through the door. "Sorry to cut things so close."

"Not to worry, at least not tonight," Kevin a.s.sured her, punching off whatever phone line he'd been talking on. "Tomorrow night, now that's another story. We've got a live guest scheduled. The author of Bad Kids, Worse Parents. She's a little on the schiz-y side. You'd better be here early to prep her."

"I remember. And I will. Promise."

Kevin's phone rang.

Taylor jumped as if she'd been stung.

Frowning, Kevin answered the call, scrutinizing Taylor as he dealt with the caller, asking the customary questions, getting what he needed, then queuing up the call.

"Do you want to tell me what that was about?" he demanded, swivel-ing his chair around to face Taylor.

She feathered a shaky hand through her hair. "What what was about?"

"Gimme a break. You just hit the ceiling at the sound of a ringing telephone. What's got you so freaked?"

"Life." Taylor gave a weary shrug. "I'm a basket case. 'Overreact' seems to be my middle name these days."

Before Kevin could respond, Rick walked in, followed by the new guy, Dennis, who was sorting through some disks.

He stopped behind Rick, who'd come to a halt and was scrutinizing Taylor.

"Hey." Rick's greeting was warm, but his smile didn't quite reach his eyes. He looked like h.e.l.l, haggard and out of sorts. "I was getting worried about you. You're never this late."

"I know. I'm really sorry. It's been a rocky couple of days." Taylor refrained from saying more.

Dennis hesitated in the doorway, fidgeting from one sneakered foot to the other. "Rick, if you want, I'll leave these disks with you and sit in another night."

Rick inclined his head in Taylor's direction. "I told Dennis he could observe tonight's show, since it's just us and no guests."

"Absolutely." Taylor waved Dennis in. "Tonight's fine. Things are just crazy because I'm late. Grab a seat and watch Rick and Kevin work their magic. There's no one better in the business to learn from. Although if you were hoping for a doughnut, you can forget it. The last whole one disappeared into Bill's mouth a few minutes ago."

"You've got to be kidding." Rick grimaced. "That's a record, even here. That box lasted ten minutes."

"I'll pick up some more," Dennis offered. "That'll give you guys a few minutes to get started before I start bugging you with questions. Be back in ten." He ducked out of the room.

Rick eyed Taylor with concern. "The tension in here's so thick, it's like walking onto a soap-opera set. What's up?"

"We were just getting to that when you walked in," Kevin informed him. "My phone rang and Taylor flipped out."

"Why?"

Both guys stared at Taylor, waiting expectantly for an explanation.

She sighed. "Look, a few things happened over the weekend that threw me. Can we just leave it at that?"

"No." Rick didn't mince words. "What things? Did that lawyer who's teaching you self-defense try something? Did he come on to you? Is that what this is about?"

"No." The ironic part was that what had happened between her and Reed had turned out to be the highlight of her weekend. "There was just some creep hanging around the cemetery when I visited Steph's grave on Sat.u.r.day. He came after me. I ran back to my car, and he took off. Probably a mugger who changed his mind. Still, the whole thing spooked me. To top that off, I got a crank call last night. Some weirdo on a voice changer who told me to keep sleeping alone. I guess the two things combined were a little too much."

"Taylor." Rick wasn't ready to let this go. "You're pretty levelheaded. Did you feel like that guy at the cemetery and the one on the phone were the same person?"

"My common sense says no. But my emotions are another story. So, yes, the whole thing got to me.

As for the phone call, what made it worse is that it brought back memories of when that detective called to tell me about the boat explosion--" Taylor broke off. "Look, guys, can we not talk about this anymore? I'd rather concentrate on the show. It'll give me something tangible and normal to focus on, which will calm me down. Okay?"

"Yeah, okay." Kevin shot a quick glance at Rick, who was frowning. "Go in and get settled. Laura's on her way up. Just so you know, the first few calls I've got queued up are typical Monday nighters--we've got two rocky relations.h.i.+ps and one Sat.u.r.day-night date that went south."

Nodding, Taylor disappeared into the studio.

Rick flipped on the audio controls, speaking to Kevin without glancing his way. "I don't like the way that sounds."

"No. Me either," Kevin agreed. "So let's keep on our toes--just in case."

"Done."

Rick cut the conversation short as the door opened and Dennis walked in, a box of doughnuts in his hands.

"Pull up a chair," Rick said, waving him over. "The teenage angst is about to begin." He grimaced, his mind taking a brief detour. "Which is nothing compared to the adult angst that lies ahead for these lucky adolescents."

8:32 P.M.

Taylor finished off her bottle of Poland Spring as the commercials on the half hour came to an end and the WVNY jingle sounded. Her thirst was quenched, her mouth and throat were moist, and she was ready to address the next caller.

She glanced at her computer screen, where the calls were queued up. As always, Kevin had typed in some key phrases to prepare her. The first line read: Fred. Young guy in high school. Has it bad for a girl in one of his cla.s.ses. Can't find a way to tell her. Definitely can't confide in his parents.

A wistful smile touched Taylor's lips. Yeah, she remembered those awkward days.

She punched up the call. "Welcome back, everyone. This is Taylor Halstead, ready to take your calls. Fred, I understand there's someone special--someone you'd like to get to know better."

"I already know her," he replied in a voice Taylor instantly recognized.

It was Romeo.

"In fact, I know her better than she thinks," he continued. "Like tonight, for instance. Tonight of all nights, I know she's superstressed and needs to unwind. I want to take her out for dessert. How about it, Taylor? Eleven o'clock?"

Taylor's heart began slamming against her ribs. Kevin and Rick had both gone pale, and Kevin reached over to disconnect the call.

With a hard shake of her head, Taylor stopped him. "I appreciate the invitation, Fred," she said, speaking as calmly as she could. "But I'm only available on counseling matters and, even then, only during airtime. I'm sure there's someone in your school who'd love to go out with you. Give her a call. I wish you luck."

Taylor could hear him cajoling as she hung up.

Kevin flipped to commercial. Then he keyed up the mike, his jaw tightening as he saw her bury her face in her hands. "Dammit, Taylor, I'm sorry. The son of a b.i.t.c.h disguised his voice. He's never tried that one before. He's also never called himself Fred. It's always been Romeo."

"Yeah, well, he picked a lousy night to get creative."

"I know. And I picked a lousy night to screw up. Regardless, it was just a coincidence. A harmless come-on. Don't let your imagination run wild." Kevin blew out a self-deprecating breath. "You can slug me after the show. I really blew it."

Slowly, Taylor raised her head. "It's not your fault," she a.s.sured him. "We all know that if someone wants to get through badly enough, they'll find a way to make it happen."

"Yeah, well, it won't be happening again."

Taylor stared blankly ahead, apprehension s.h.i.+mmering through her. "How did he know that I was superstressed?" she murmured. "What was it he said--that tonight, of all nights, I needed to unwind? How did he know that?"

"It's a line, Taylor." Kevin had already signaled for a prerecorded disk to be brought in, should it be needed. But he intended to calm her down. The best thing for her right now was to continue with the show.

"A line?" she repeated dubiously.

"Yeah, guys use it all the time. Romeo or Fred or whatever his name is has used it before. Every night is the night for him. I've told you that. He wants to go out with you. And he's dense enough to believe he can make it happen. Sure, he's a s.p.a.ce cadet. But he's not a wacko. None of the signs are there. No psycho threats, no weird s.e.xual references, no personal, inside knowledge about you or your life."

Taylor nodded. "True."

"I realize this is the last thing you needed to happen tonight," Kevin added in a soothing tone. "But put it in perspective. Nothing the guy said was new. It was the same old, same old. His usual come-on. So his timing sucked. Don't let it get to you."

"You're right." Taylor shot her producer a weak smile before glancing at the lineup of calls on her screen. "Are you sure you're not the counselor here?"

"Positive." He grinned. "I just learned from a pro. Now the commercial's ending. Grab that mike and do your stuff."

"Nice job," Rick commented once the communication line between the two rooms had been shut off.

"Yeah," Kevin muttered back. "Now let's hope everything I said is true."

Rick gave a tight nod, adjusting the audio controls. "If Romeo happens to call again--"

"I'll recognize whatever voice or name he uses," Kevin finished. "I'll grill the h.e.l.l out of the guy. And if I get the slightest vibe that he's anything but a lonely, innocent nerd who's hot for Taylor, I'll call the cops and have them put a trace on the call."

"Good." Rick studied Taylor through the gla.s.s, a troubled expression on his face. "It's best not to take chances."

10:45 P.M.

Laura poked her head into the small, cluttered office one floor down from the broadcast studios that Taylor used to answer e-mails, catch up on research, and conduct preliminary phone interviews with upcoming guests.

"Hi." Taylor looked surprised to see her. "I thought you'd gone home."

"I wanted to check on you."

"I'm fine."

"Good." Laura cleared her throat. "Look, I know you said you didn't want me to transfer any calls through to you, but there's a guy on the phone. It's not Romeo," she added hastily, seeing Taylor go rigid. "His name is Reed Weston. It's the third time he's called in the past twenty minutes. I asked him what it's about, but all he'll say is that it's personal. He sounds perfectly normal. Do you want to take it, or should I blow him off?"

The relief that swept through Taylor was staggering. "I'll take the call," she told Laura. "You go on home. And thanks for being such a great guard dog." She waited until Laura had complied, then lifted the receiver and punched the flas.h.i.+ng b.u.t.ton. "Hi."

"Hi, yourself." There was light static accompanying his voice. He was obviously on a cell phone.

"Getting through to you is like getting through to a CIA operative. On top of that, don't you ever go home? And here I thought I was a workaholic."

Taylor smiled. "My a.s.sistant is very protective. Besides, I didn't realize you and I had made plans."

"We didn't. I made them for us. I want to see you. I've driven around the block so many times, the cops in the neighborhood squad car are giving me the fish eye. I actually considered taking my chances and double-parking long enough to come up and get you."

"Right. And your Mercedes would be towed away three minutes later."

"Exactly. So give me a break and come out."

Ma.s.saging her temples, Taylor sighed. "Seriously, Reed, I'm not up for anything heavy tonight, certainly not a self-defense lesson. I can barely see straight."

"Nothing heavy. And no lesson. I just brought you a can of pepper spray for your purse. I'll trade it for a gla.s.s of wine at your place. Deal?"

G.o.d, that sounded good. A reprieve from the tension of the past few days and, yes, a chance to see Reed. "You're a good negotiator, Counselor. Deal. Give me five minutes to wrap up. I'll meet you wherever it's easiest."

"I'll crawl down Seventh. I'll pick you up right in front of your building. Near the streetlights and the security guard," he added pointedly.

"I'll be there."

CHAPTER 11.

Ten minutes later, Taylor slid in next to Reed, shut the car door, and settled back with a sigh.

"Normally, I'd be furious. I don't like people making decisions for me. But in this case, I'll make an exception."

Reed pulled away from the curb. Turning right, he headed west to Tenth Avenue, then north toward Taylor's apartment. "Normally, I don't make decisions for people. But I happened to tune in and catch a chunk of your radio show tonight."

"Ah, so you heard Romeo hit on me."