“KHIP, you’re on the air.”
***
She got through it. That was all that mattered. And she wasn’t going to fall apart the way she had the other night. Cilla was grateful for that. All she needed to do was think it all through.
She hadn’t objected when Boyd took the wheel of her car. Relinquishing the right to drive was the least of her worries.
“I’m coming in,” Boyd said after he parked the car. She just shrugged and started for the door.
Very deliberately she hung up her coat and pried off her shoes. She sat, still without speaking, and lit a cigarette. The marked cruiser outside had relieved her mind. Deborah was safe and asleep.
“Look,” she began once she’d marshaled her thoughts. “There really isn’t any use going into this. I think I have it figured out.”
“Do you?” He didn’t sit down. Her icy calm disturbed him much more than hysterics or anger would have. “Fill me in.”
“It’s obvious he’s made a mistake. He has me mixed up with someone else. I just have to convince him.”
“Just have to convince him,” Boyd repeated. “And how do you intend to do that?”
“The next time he calls, I’ll make him listen.” She crossed an arm across her body and began to rub at the chill in her shoulder. “For God’s sake, Fletcher, I haven’t murdered anyone.”
“So you’ll tell him that and he’ll be perfectly reasonable and apologize for bothering you.”
Her carefully built calm was wearing thin. “I’ll make him understand.”
“You’re trying to make yourself believe he’s rational, Cilla. He’s not:”
“What am I supposed to do?” she demanded, snapping the cigarette in two as she crushed it out. “Whether he’s rational or not, I have to make him see he’s made a mistake. I’ve never killed anyone.” Her laugh was strained as she pulled the band from her hair. “I’ve never seduced anyone.”
“Give me a break.”
Anger brought her out of the chair. “What do you see me as, some kind of black widow who goes around luring men, then knocking them off when I’m finished? Get the picture, Fletcher. I’m a voice, a damn good one. That’s where it ends.”
“You’re a great deal more than a voice, Cilla. We both know that.” He paused, waiting for her to look at him again. “And so does he.”
Something trembled inside her—part fear, part longing. She wanted neither. “Whatever I am, I’m no temptress. It’s an act, a show, and it has nothing to do with reality. My ex-husband would be the first to tell you I don’t even have a sex drive.”
His eyes sharpened. “You never mentioned you’d been married.”
And she hadn’t intended to, Cilla thought as she wearily combed a hand through her hair. “It was a million years ago. What does it matter?”
“Everything applies. I want his name and address.”
“I don’t know his address. We didn’t even last a year. I was twenty years old, for God’s sake.” She began to rub at her forehead.
“His name, Cilla.”
“Paul. Paul Lomax. I haven’t seen him for about eight years—since he divorced me.” She spun to the window, then back again. “The point is, this guy’s on the wrong frequency. He’s got it into his head I—what?—used my wiles on some guy, and that doesn’t wash.”
“Apparently he thinks it does.”
“Well, he thinks wrong. I couldn’t even keep one man happy, so it’s a joke to think I could seduce legions.”
“That’s a stupid remark, even for you.”
“Do you think I like admitting that I’m all show, that I’m lousy in bed?” She bit off the words as she paced. “The last man I went out with told me I had ice water for blood. But I didn’t kill him.” She calmed a little, amused in spite of herself. “I thought about it, though.”
“I think it’s time you start to take this whole business seriously. And I think it’s time you start taking yourself seriously.”
“I take myself very seriously.”
“Professionally,” he agreed.
***
She got through it. That was all that mattered. And she wasn’t going to fall apart the way she had the other night. Cilla was grateful for that. All she needed to do was think it all through.
She hadn’t objected when Boyd took the wheel of her car. Relinquishing the right to drive was the least of her worries.
“I’m coming in,” Boyd said after he parked the car. She just shrugged and started for the door.
Very deliberately she hung up her coat and pried off her shoes. She sat, still without speaking, and lit a cigarette. The marked cruiser outside had relieved her mind. Deborah was safe and asleep.
“Look,” she began once she’d marshaled her thoughts. “There really isn’t any use going into this. I think I have it figured out.”
“Do you?” He didn’t sit down. Her icy calm disturbed him much more than hysterics or anger would have. “Fill me in.”
“It’s obvious he’s made a mistake. He has me mixed up with someone else. I just have to convince him.”
“Just have to convince him,” Boyd repeated. “And how do you intend to do that?”
“The next time he calls, I’ll make him listen.” She crossed an arm across her body and began to rub at the chill in her shoulder. “For God’s sake, Fletcher, I haven’t murdered anyone.”
“So you’ll tell him that and he’ll be perfectly reasonable and apologize for bothering you.”
Her carefully built calm was wearing thin. “I’ll make him understand.”
“You’re trying to make yourself believe he’s rational, Cilla. He’s not:”
“What am I supposed to do?” she demanded, snapping the cigarette in two as she crushed it out. “Whether he’s rational or not, I have to make him see he’s made a mistake. I’ve never killed anyone.” Her laugh was strained as she pulled the band from her hair. “I’ve never seduced anyone.”
“Give me a break.”
Anger brought her out of the chair. “What do you see me as, some kind of black widow who goes around luring men, then knocking them off when I’m finished? Get the picture, Fletcher. I’m a voice, a damn good one. That’s where it ends.”
“You’re a great deal more than a voice, Cilla. We both know that.” He paused, waiting for her to look at him again. “And so does he.”
Something trembled inside her—part fear, part longing. She wanted neither. “Whatever I am, I’m no temptress. It’s an act, a show, and it has nothing to do with reality. My ex-husband would be the first to tell you I don’t even have a sex drive.”
His eyes sharpened. “You never mentioned you’d been married.”
And she hadn’t intended to, Cilla thought as she wearily combed a hand through her hair. “It was a million years ago. What does it matter?”
“Everything applies. I want his name and address.”
“I don’t know his address. We didn’t even last a year. I was twenty years old, for God’s sake.” She began to rub at her forehead.
“His name, Cilla.”
“Paul. Paul Lomax. I haven’t seen him for about eight years—since he divorced me.” She spun to the window, then back again. “The point is, this guy’s on the wrong frequency. He’s got it into his head I—what?—used my wiles on some guy, and that doesn’t wash.”
“Apparently he thinks it does.”
“Well, he thinks wrong. I couldn’t even keep one man happy, so it’s a joke to think I could seduce legions.”
“That’s a stupid remark, even for you.”
“Do you think I like admitting that I’m all show, that I’m lousy in bed?” She bit off the words as she paced. “The last man I went out with told me I had ice water for blood. But I didn’t kill him.” She calmed a little, amused in spite of herself. “I thought about it, though.”
“I think it’s time you start to take this whole business seriously. And I think it’s time you start taking yourself seriously.”
“I take myself very seriously.”
“Professionally,” he agreed.
Similar Books
