скачать книгу бесплатно
Final Warning
Sandra Robbins
Let's play a game… One e-mail, and radio show host C. J. Tanner becomes a pawn in a madman's game. Only by solving his riddles can she stop the murders. And only Mitch Harmon, her ex-fiancé, can help her put an end to the killer's plans. Mitch knows he has to discover the killer's true identity.Otherwise the man's obsession with C.J. will have her following his steps to become his final victim. Mitch won't allow anyone to harm the woman he let slip away. He'll keep her safe–even if he has to put his own life on the line.
In his time on the police force, Mitch had never felt more helpless with a case than this one.
The newspapers were calling for Fala to be caught, and the citizens of Oxford were frightened where he would strike next.
Mitch had to find the link to these murders. He mentally checked off the clues: bloody handprints, a knife, a truck, a blond hair and C.J. The last one hit him like a punch in the stomach. For some unknown reason Fala had chosen to put her in the middle of the worst murder spree in the history of Oxford.
Chills raced up Mitch’s spine as he wondered what Fala had planned next for C.J. He had to find Fala. No way was he going to let C.J. end up as the next victim.
“If you want to get to her,” Mitch muttered, “you’ll have to kill me first.”
SANDRA ROBBINS,
a native West Tennessean, was a teacher and principal in Tennessee public schools. She now writes full-time and is an adjunct college professor. She is married and has four children and five grandchildren.
Her fascination with mystery and suspense can be traced to all the Nancy Drew books she read as a child. She hopes her stories will entice readers to keep turning the page until wrongs have been righted and romance has blossomed in her characters’ lives.
It is her prayer that God will use her words to plant seeds of hope in the lives of her readers. Her greatest desire is that many will come to know the peace she draws from her life verse, Isaiah 40:31—But those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles, they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint.
To find out more about Sandra and her books, go to her Web site at http://sandrarobbins.net.
Final Warning
Sandra Robbins
If we believe not, yet he abideth faithful: he cannot deny himself.
—2 Timothy 2:13
To the memory of DJ Stewart “Stewman” Byars, who gave hours of enjoyment to his listeners. Without his invaluable information this book wouldn’t have been possible.
Acknowledgments
Special thanks to Paul Tinkle, President and General Manager of Thunderbolt Broadcasting, for opening the doors of WCMT and giving me a behind-the-scenes look at the world of radio.
To Chris Brinkley, thank you for answering my questions and allowing me to experience live broadcasting as a part of Good Times in the Morning with Chris and Paul.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION
ONE
Let’s play a game, C.J.
Her skin prickled at the words in the subject line of the e-mail. C. J. Tanner’s finger hovered over the delete key, but she pulled away, unable to press it. She clicked the mouse, and the message came into view.
Let’s play a game, I’ll send a clue,
The hidden answer must come from you.
To win a round you have to know
Where I will strike a deadly blow.
Fala
The strange message made no sense. A deadly blow?
As the talk show host of C.J’s Journal on WLMT radio, she’d received lots of creepy messages. But this one was different. How, she didn’t know, but it made every nerve ending in her body tingle.
The angry remarks from callers to her show flashed into her mind. Perhaps the e-mail was from Jimmy Carpenter. Maybe he didn’t like his suspected illegal drug activities being discussed by listeners of her program. One caller the night before had been irate because the police had only been able to charge Jimmy with drug possession during his latest arrest. To make matters worse, the caller had said Jimmy made bail right away and was probably already peddling his drugs on the streets of Oxford, Tennessee.
The shrill ring of the telephone jolted her from her thoughts as it pierced the morning quiet. Her heart still pumping in fear, her hand snaked toward the phone, but struck the coffee cup sitting next to the computer. With a cry, she steadied the mug with both hands before picking up the handset.
“H-hello,” she said.
“C.J., this is Mitch. How are you?”
She gripped the handset more tightly and closed her eyes as the soothing tone of her ex-fiancé’s voice poured over her. She wanted to cry out her relief that he’d called, but she bit her lip. He’d been the first person she’d allowed a peek into her heart, and now she was suffering the consequences of that choice.
As she’d done so often during the last month, she raised her left hand and stared at it. No longer did the emerald-cut diamond ring sparkle on her finger. When Mitch Harmon proposed, they had promised to love each other forever. It only took six months to dash her hopes of finally finding the happily-ever-after she’d always wanted.
She took a deep breath. “I’m okay, Mitch. How about you?”
There was a moment of hesitation before he spoke. “I’m fine.”
His image rippled through her mind. She wondered how he looked. Had he slept well, or were his eyes tired from lack of sleep, as hers were? “That’s good. Is there any special reason for your call?”
He released a long breath. “I wanted to tell you that I’ve been listening to your radio show.”
What a surprise. This was very different from his reaction when she first told him of the addition of C.J.’s Journal to the WLMT schedule. It was the type of program she’d dreamed about—a talk show five days a week in the prized afternoon drive time of radio.
She frowned. “I’m glad. Especially after you’ve been so insistent on my not doing the show. What was it you said? That I’d attract all kinds of crazy callers.”
“That’s right, and I haven’t changed my mind about that.” She could imagine his clenched jaw and the thin line of his mouth. She’d seen that expression often enough during their disagreements over the radio program. “It’s just that I see the dark side of life in Oxford every day. I don’t want you to be put in any danger,” he said.
C.J. closed her eyes and rubbed her fingers across her forehead. The memory of all the arguments of the past few months flashed into her mind. He’d been adamant that she shouldn’t do the show, and she’d been just as determined to show him and everybody else that she was up to the task. “We’ve been over this before, Mitch. I know you don’t want me to do this program, but I’m not giving it up.”
“I’m worried about you, and I miss you. It’s even starting to affect my work. I can’t concentrate, and that’s not good for a policeman.”
C.J.’s skin prickled, and she sat up straighter in the chair. “Well, we wouldn’t want to put Myra in any danger, would we?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Surprise laced his words. C.J. almost laughed at how slow on the uptake Mitch could be sometimes. Myra Summers, his partner, had been in love with him ever since they began working together. Everybody but Mitch knew it. C.J. hadn’t worried about it then because she knew Mitch loved her, but now Myra waited to pick up the pieces. A knifelike pain sliced through C.J.’s heart at the thought.
“I’m sure your partner has offered you a nice shoulder to cry on.”
Mitch gave a slight gasp. “Is that really why you broke our engagement? You’re jealous of Myra? For your information, she’s been a good friend.”
C.J. started to offer a retort, but suddenly she felt tired. She didn’t want to fight anymore. He would never understand how important her radio program was to her. “I need to go. I have to get ready for work.”
“Fine.” He was all business now. “But one more thing.”
“What?”
“Be careful with your editorials on the show. There are some dangerous characters in this town. It wouldn’t be wise to make them angry.”
Like Fala, she thought. For a moment she wanted to tell Mitch about the e-mail, but she bit her lip. “I will be, Mitch. Goodbye.”
She hung up the phone and sat at the desk, thinking about all the time she and Mitch had spent together. When they first met, he’d just been promoted to detective on the police force, and she was a struggling assistant to the producer at the radio station. She often wondered why he had chosen her.
With his dark hair, eyes like pools of rich chocolate, and shoulders as broad and strong as a college running back, he was too handsome for someone as plain as her.
He had often told her she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever known, but she knew better. For years her mother had expressed the truth on a regular basis. The words were branded into her mind as if they’d been spoken yesterday. Get out of my sight, you repulsive little creature. She had hoped her love for Mitch would erase those memories, but it hadn’t.
They had been so much in love, or at least she thought he had loved her. Apparently, she’d been wrong about that. A man who loves a woman should support her decisions, not try to control her by imposing his own ideas of what was best for her.
No man would ever treat her the way her father treated her mother. C.J. had escaped his rages, which often sent her mother to the hospital, but she couldn’t forget them. Those memories had never been far from her mind while she worked her way through college and landed her first job. She’d fought for everything she’d gotten in life, and she would never be manipulated and controlled by a man.
Not that Mitch would ever hit her. He was too kind for that. In fact, he talked to her about God’s love all the time and how he wanted her to feel the peace that came from believing. She laughed and told him she’d prayed often when she was a little girl. At night she’d cower under the covers and beg God to make her father stop hitting her mother, but it never worked. She’d given up on God a long time ago.
With a sigh she reached to turn off the computer, but her gaze returned to the strange message on the screen. If Fala’s intent had been to scare her, he’d accomplished this task.
Erase the message—that’s what she had to do. Then she could forget about it. Her fingers punched the delete key, and the words disappeared.
No sense of relief came. Instead a strong wind shook the house and sent an icy chill flowing through her body. Her heart pounded at the mournful song the gusts whistled in the eaves—deadly blow, deadly blow.
Twenty minutes later, C.J. backed her car out of the garage and down the driveway. Adam Connor waved at her from the sidewalk in front of his house across the street. She pulled to the curb and rolled the window down. Adam jogged toward her, the morning newspaper under his arm. His brown eyes and dark, straight hair, combined with his year-round tan, reminded her of a young George Hamilton.
He peered inside, his white teeth flashing behind his broad smile. “Morning, C.J. You must be running late. You’re usually gone when I get back from the gym.”
“I am late, but I wanted to welcome you home. When did you get back from Atlanta?”
Damp strands of his black hair clung to his forehead, and he wiped at them with his hand. “Last night. I sold my paintings and have some commissions for more.”
“Wonderful. We’ll have to get together and celebrate your success. I’ll invite Gwen. She’s really missed you.”
A shy smile curled his lips at the mention of Gwen Anderson, C.J.’s assistant. “I’ve missed her, too. When you get to work, tell her I got in late last night, but I’ll call her later.”
“Will do.”
He raised his eyebrows and leaned closer. “But what about you? Any news about you and Mitch?”
She tugged at her seat belt. “No, everything’s still the same as when you left.”
His smile turned to a frown. “I’m sorry, C.J.”
She placed her hand on the gearshift. “Well, work calls. I’ll talk to you later.”
Adam waved and backed away. She glanced in the rearview mirror to return the wave but hesitated, a sense of unease filling her. An unfamiliar black SUV was parked across the street from her house. She could barely make out the person behind the wheel, but it appeared to be a woman.
Her fingers tightened around the steering wheel. Could Fala be a woman? Fear rose in her throat and she swallowed, then relaxed. She was being silly. If she started worrying about every message she received, it would affect her work. Besides, the e-mail was just somebody’s idea of a joke. She pressed the accelerator and turned her attention to the morning traffic.
Juggling a cup of coffee in one hand and her briefcase in the other, C.J. stopped in front of the closed door to her office on the second floor of the WLMT radio station building. Gwen Anderson, her blond hair bouncing on her shoulders, hurried forward.
“Let me get that for you.” She opened the door and motioned C.J. to enter. “What are assistants for if they can’t assist the boss when she’s loaded down?”
