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  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

  Published by Steeple Hill Books™

  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?”

  Pert. That was the only word C.J. had ever been able to come up with to describe Gwen, whose blue eyes always sparkled behind the oversize glasses she wore. She had boundless energy that never seemed to flag. And her intuition! Gwen could foresee an assignment and complete it even before it was given to her. Gwen was a jewel among the staff of WLMT.

  C.J. entered the office and set her coffee on the edge of the desk. She dropped the briefcase next to her cup and sank into her chair. “Thanks for the help, but you know I don’t think of myself as your boss. I’ve never had a better working relationship with anyone.”

  Gwen eased into a chair across from C.J. “I should thank you every day for giving me this chance. I sure wouldn’t have gotten it if it’d been left up to our esteemed producer.”

  C.J. tilted her head and arched an eyebrow. “Harley appreciates your work.”

  A snort of disgust came from Gwen’s throat. “Sure he does. That’s why he’s been so quick to recommend me for a raise.”

  “Now, Gwen. You know that’s Mr. Cunningham’s decision. Harley’s just our producer.”

  C.J. leaned back in her chair. “I know you don’t like him, but he’s really been good to me. This new show is just what I needed.”

  Darkness the color of storm clouds flashed in Gwen’s eyes. “Don’t be taken in by him. He thinks he’s the most important person around here. Can’t get along with any department. He calls the engineering guys idiots, and they take it out on us. I can’t get anything repaired—not even my printer.”

  This wasn’t the first time C.J. had heard employees complaining about Harley. Every few days someone asked her to intervene in a conflict with him. Gwen was just the latest in a long line. “I’ll talk to Matt in engineering.”

  Gwen crossed her arms and frowned. “While you’re at it, ask him about the WLMT sign. Ever since I was a child I’ve loved driving by here at night and seeing those tall letters standing on the flat roof of the building. They used to light up the sky, but not anymore. Have you seen it lately?”

  The sign had been the trademark of their station for years, but like a lot of things around the building, it had fallen into disrepair. “Yeah, I noticed the other night the T was the only letter lit.”

  Gwen nodded. “Right. You never know which letters will be illuminated. I came by here last night, and the sign was completely out. Now this morning it’s fine. How do you explain that?”

  “Harley said there’s a short in it, but the company that’s supposed to fix it keeps putting
us off.”

  “Good morning, lovely ladies. Did I hear my name mentioned?” Harley Martin, his wire-rimmed glasses propped on his head, stuck his hands in the pockets of his wrinkled pants and stepped into the room. His potbelly hung over the waist-band and his belt looped underneath the bulging girth. He stopped next to Gwen’s chair and grinned down at her.

  Gwen rose slowly and turned to face Harley. “Well, if it isn’t the genius behind the success of C.J.’s Journal. We were just talking about you.”

  The mischievous gleam in Harley’s eyes contradicted the serious expression on his face. “I thought I heard you telling C.J. how lucky you are to work for such a great guy.”

  Gwen glared and took a step toward Harley. “You’re impossible. I don’t know why I stay here.”

  He winked at C.J. “’Cause you know you’re never gonna find another boss who takes such good care of you.”

  Gwen’s face flushed. She headed toward the door. “I give up. See what you can do with him.”

  Harley watched until Gwen left the room, then smiled at C.J. “You gotta love that girl. Best researcher we’ve ever had here.”

  C.J. stood up, her gaze taking in Harley’s white shirt with the gravy stain that had been there the day before. One thing about her producer—he never would make the top ten best-dressed list. “Maybe it’s time to show your gratitude and ask Mr. Cunningham to give her a raise.”

  Harley held up his hands and backed away. “Whoa, there, girl. We gotta hit the top of the ratings first. Then we’ll see who gets a raise.”

  She shook her head. “Gwen’s right. You are impossible.”