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  He winked and headed for the door. “Maybe. But I’m making you a household name around Oxford. Before I’m through with you, C.J.’s Journal will be the most listened to show in our area. And after that, who knows?” He flipped a little salute in her direction. “Catch you later. We need to talk about tonight’s show. I have a feeling it’s gonna be quite a broadcast.”

  For some reason his words, which on the surface seemed innocent enough, stirred the uneasiness she’d felt all morning. The stories she’d covered in the past few weeks flashed through her mind. Most of them were concerned with the dark side of life in Oxford, not what she’d intended when she began her program. For a moment she wished she’d never gotten caught up in the world of crime and drug dealers like Jimmy Carpenter. But there was no turning back.

  A soft chime sounded from the direction of her computer. Another e-mail. She glanced at the screen and stared with wide eyes at the sender’s name—Fala. Her heart pounded at the subject line. Ready to play, C.J.?

  With shaking fingers she clicked the mouse and stared at the message before her:

  Four there are await your play,

  One won’t see the break of day,

  From East to West they all will cry,

  Who will be the first to die?

  Fala

  TWO

  The words gyrated on the computer screen in rhythm with the drumbeat of C.J.’s heart. She grasped the edge of the desk, the message sending chills down her spine.

  “Who will be the first to die?” she whispered.

  If this was a joke, Fala had gone too far. She wrapped her shaking fingers around the phone handset to call Gwen. She hesitated, her eyes growing wider by the moment. What was it Harley had said? He had a feeling that tonight’s show was going to be quite a broadcast.

  Harley! Of course! She should have guessed.

  This had to be one of his publicity stunts. He wanted to scare her into thinking someone was about to commit a crime in Oxford. If she went on the air and mentioned a menacing e-mail, they’d probably get a flood of calls.

  Oh, the gall of that man to scare her so. With clenched fists she strode toward the office door and flung it open. Harley stood just down the hall talking to Michael Grayson, head of the sales department. “Harley! I need to see you now.”

  Michael pivoted and glared at her. “Wait your turn, C.J. He’s mine right now.”

  C.J. stopped, her stomach roiling. This wasn’t the first time she’d seen Harley and Michael arguing. Splotches of red covered Michael’s craggy face, and a muscle twitched in his jaw.

  Michael pushed his glasses up on his hawklike nose, the French cuffs of his Prada shirt slipping up to reveal a diamond-studded watch with an alligator band, and pointed his finger at Harley. “Now you listen to me, hotshot. If it wasn’t for my staff, you wouldn’t have any sponsors for C.J.’s Journal, or any of your other shows. You’d better watch your step or you’ll find yourself without any financial backing, and you’ll be off the air. Got it?”

  Harley chuckled. “Sure, Mike. But from where I sit, your guys wouldn’t have anything to sell if it wasn’t for the interest my programs generate. Now get out there and do your job, and leave mine to me.”

  Harley turned away, but Michael grabbed his arm. “Just remember that you’ve been warned.”

  Harley pulled away from the restraining hand and swaggered down the hall toward C.J. “Now, doll. What can I do for you?”

  C.J. couldn’t take her eyes off Michael’s angry face. He’d intimidated her since the first day she’d walked into the radio station, and now he was threatening her program. She couldn’t let Harley’s cocky attitude ruin what she’d worked so hard to achieve.

  She glanced in Michael’s direction. “Are you having trouble with the salespeople again?”

  Harley waved his hand in dismissal. “It’s nothing for you to worry about.”

  The e-mail flashed into her mind. “How could you do that to me?”

  His eyebrows arched. “What are you talking about?”

  “That e-mail! What are you trying to do—scare me to death?”

  Harley studied her for a moment. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  She grabbed his arm, pulled him inside her office and propelled him to her desk chair. She pointed a shaking finger at the computer screen. “This is what I’m talking about.”

  Harley leaned forward as he read the e-mail. After a few moments, he chuckled. “Do you think I sent this?”

  She crossed her arms. “Yes.”

  “Well, I didn’t. Don’t have any idea who did, but I kinda like it.”

  The man never ceased to amaze her. “What?”

  “Yeah. This means you’ve struck a nerve somewhere, and this lunatic wants to make you squirm a little. Congratulations. This is the kind of stuff that can keep listeners tuning in.”

  “Harley, you’re impossible. I don’t want to attract crazy people.”

  “This guy probably just wants some attention. Nobody’s gonna talk about a crime before they commit it.” He tilted his head as if in thought. A slow smile pulled at his lips. “Of course, we could run with this tonight and see if the mysterious e-mailer will call in to talk.”

  C.J. backed away from him, her head shaking back and forth. “Don’t you even suggest it, Harley. I’m not about to encourage people like this.”

  “Aw, C.J. C’mon. It could be…”

  “No!”

  “But…”

  She grabbed her purse from the desk. “I’ll be out of here in two minutes if you don’t go along with me on this.”

  Harley was a head shorter than she was, but his determination could make her resolve slip. He’d done it before. But not this time. Her phone rang, breaking the silence between them. She straightened her shoulders and ignored it, her gaze never wavering from his.

  Finally, he grinned and stuck his hands in his pockets. “Okay, have it your way. But I think it’s a mistake.”

  She didn’t say anything, and after a few moments he headed toward the door. When he’d disappeared down the hall, she sank down in her desk chair and read the message again. Was somebody really about to die?

  If this was the kind of people who were tuning in to her program, maybe the talk show wasn’t worth it. But then that would mean that Mitch had been right all along. With a groan she closed the e-mail program and sat there, staring at the blank screen.

  The words, no longer visible on the screen, appeared in her mind as if they’d been seared into her innermost thoughts. She crossed her arms and hugged her body to stop the trembling that swept through her. If the message was to be believed, four people were walking around Oxford unaware that death was stalking them. She had no idea who they were or why she had been chosen to rescue them from the evil they were about to encounter.

  “If only I could warn them,” she whispered.

  Mitch didn’t know what made him take the long route to work and then turn down the street where C.J. lived. He knew he wouldn’t see her. By this time of morning, she’d already been at the radio station for hours. Maybe it was a leftover habit from picking her up to go out, or it could be that he just wanted to feel close to her again. At times during the last month he’d thought he would go out of his mind from wanting to see her, talk to her or just sit quietly and hold her hand.

  He could still envision her as she was two years ago when she’d interviewed him about a murder in Oxford. He’d been surprised when she informed him that she remembered him from college. He had no recollection of her, but in later weeks he couldn’t understand how he’d missed out on someone so special.

  For him no other woman would ever measure up to C.J. She was beautiful with her long, brown hair and hazel eyes, but that was only part of the attraction he felt toward her. Behind her flashing eyes was an intelligence he felt he could never quite match. And because she never tried to appear superior to anyone, it only increased the magnetism she radiated.

  When she broke the engagement, it had caught him completely off guard. He’d known she was under a lot of stress getting the new show started. They’d disagreed about her doing it, just as they had disagreed about her refusal to acknowledge any need for God in her life. The arguments had never gotten heated, or at least he hadn’t thought so.

  Patrolling the streets of Oxford for several years before being promoted to detective had taught him how dangerous situations could become in the blink of an eye. It had also reinforced his belief that he couldn’t get through the day without the peace that came from knowing God watched over him. He wanted C.J. to know that love, too.

  Mitch drove down the street and pulled to a stop in front of C.J.’s house. He sat there thinking about all the times she’d come running out to meet him. Her eyes would light up, and his heart would beat a little faster at how right it felt for them to be together. All that changed when she gave the ring back.

  A tap at the window startled him, and he jumped in surprise. He turned to see Mary Warren, C.J.’s next-door neighbor, standing beside him. He smiled and rolled the window down. “Good morning, Mary. I didn’t see you.”

  The elderly lady smiled. “I’ve been walking Otto and saw your car. I wanted to say hello.”

  At the mention of her schnauzer, the dog jumped up on the side of the car. Mary pulled on the leash and took a step back. “Otto, get down.”

  Otto’s paws slid downward, and Mitch cringed at the sound of Otto’s nails scraping on metal. He dreaded seeing the scratch on his new paint job. Mary pulled Otto back, but he tugged hard on the leash to reach the car. C.J. and Mitch had often laughed that Otto had Mary trained well.

  Mitch opened the door and stepped out in an effort to distract Otto from jumping up again. He knelt down and patted the dog. “Ho
w are you today, boy?”

  Mary beamed at Mitch as he rose. “Otto has always liked you.”

  Mitch smiled. “How have you been?”

  Mary’s faded blue eyes stared at Mitch. The jogging suit she wore swallowed her small body. She’d lost weight in the last few weeks. Every time he saw Mary, he wondered how much longer she could live alone. Her mind wasn’t as sharp as it had been a year ago, but that didn’t distract from what she saw as her mission in life.

  Ever since Mary’s husband had died, she’d been obsessed with what she saw as the rising crime rate in Oxford. She’d become so concerned that she had appointed herself as a neighborhood watchdog to keep an eye out for danger. Every time he saw Mary, she had another incident to report to him.

  Mary glanced over her shoulder toward the street. “All right, I guess. But I wanted to tell you about the woman I saw this morning sitting across the street in a strange car.”

  “Maybe she was visiting someone.” Mitch wondered how many times Mary had approached him with her worries.

  Mary shook her head. “I don’t think so. She was sitting there when I left for my walk with Otto, and she hadn’t left forty-five minutes later when we came back. I watched her after I went in the house. She drove off about fifteen minutes later when C.J. did. In fact, she followed C.J.”

  An uneasy feeling welled up in Mitch. “What did the car look like, Mary?”

  She reached in her pocket and pulled out a small notebook. “I don’t know anything about cars. All I know is that it was big and black. But I wrote down the license plate number.” She tore the paper from the pad and held it out to him. “You know I never go anywhere without my notebook.”

  Mitch smiled, took the paper and put his arm around Mary’s shoulders. “I’m sure it was very innocent. But if it’ll make you feel better, I’ll check on it. Now you go on home, and don’t worry.”

  She patted his arm and stared at him for a moment. “You’re a good boy, Mitch.”

  He climbed back in his car as Mary shuffled toward her house with Otto in tow. Mitch stared at the number in Mary’s shaky handwriting before he pulled his cell phone from his pocket and speed-dialed the police department’s number.

  With the first ring, the dispatcher answered. “Oxford Police Department.”

  “Jennie, this is Mitch Harmon. I need you to run a license plate for me.”

  “Sure, Mitch.”

  He read the numbers and waited for her computer search. Within seconds she was back on the phone.

  “Got it, Mitch.”

  “Who’s the car registered to?”

  “None other than Jimmy Carpenter.”

  The words hit Mitch like a punch in the stomach. “Thanks, Jennie.”

  He closed the phone and sat lost in thought. Why was a car belonging to the drug lord of Oxford sitting across the street from C.J.’s house and following her? Maybe that radio show was becoming even more dangerous than he thought.

  The hands on the wall clock pointed to 3:45 p.m. C.J. sat in the broadcast area, her palms damp with sweat. She stared through the window into the adjacent room where Harley busied himself checking the control board before airtime. Just a few more minutes and she’d be transmitting live.

  Four to 7:00 p.m.—the most coveted segment of afternoon drive time. She still had to pinch herself to believe that the station had given it to her. But it seemed to be paying off. Her ratings were climbing every week. She just hoped Harley’s disagreement with Michael Grayson didn’t do anything to jeopardize the program.

  She pulled the microphone closer to her mouth and reached up to check the earphones again. In the next room Harley mouthed the countdown, his fingers cueing her to the seconds left before broadcast. With a grin he pointed to her.

  C.J. took a deep breath and leaned closer to the console. “Good afternoon, and welcome to C.J.’s Journal. You’re listening to WLMT-FM in Oxford, on the air with C.J. Tanner. It’s good to be back among friends. No matter where you are, at home or driving from work, loosen that tie, settle back and get ready to spend the next three hours chatting with me about life in Oxford. Get your questions and comments ready and call me at 555-WLMT—that’s the number. But while those calls are coming in, we’re going to take a few minutes to recognize our sponsor. I’ll be back right after this message.”

  She clicked off and glanced to her left at the call screener. The calls, first routed to Harley, were approved before they were put through to the broadcast booth. The caller ID on the monitor displayed the incoming phone numbers, and she watched as he lined them up for her. She always felt a moment of apprehension before the first question. Once into the broadcast, she relaxed, letting the callers voice their concerns and responding to them in a lively give-and-take.

  All too soon the commercial ended. Harley was counting down again. She scanned the caller screen and frowned: the display read private number. They had agreed when the show went on the air that all callers had to be identified. Why was Harley putting this one through?

  She looked at Harley and shook her head, but he motioned for her to take the call.

  Frowning, she spoke into the microphone. “This is C.J. What’s on your mind tonight?”

  A soft chuckle sounded on the other end of the line, and a voice purred into her ear. “My name is Fala. I thought we might tell your listeners about our game.”

  Cold fear washed over her, and she fumbled to bring the mic closer. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I understand.”

  “Come on, C.J. You know what I mean. I sent you a riddle this morning. Have you solved it yet?”

  The voice held a wheedling tone and maybe a Southern drawl. But one thing she was certain of—she was talking to Fala.

  From the next room Harley grinned at her. C.J. motioned to him to cut the call, but he shook his head. “If you don’t have something to discuss, then I’m going to take the next caller.”

  “But I want everybody to know about our little game. I sent a riddle telling you I’m going to kill somebody. The only way to stop me is for you to solve it.”

  C.J. glared at Harley who appeared to be enjoying every word of the exchange. “Okay, I’ve heard enough. I don’t appreciate practical jokes.”

  A long sigh came over the line. “I assure you this is no joke. Maybe you don’t understand. Someone is about to die, and only you can save them.”

  She swallowed and struggled to speak. “Wh-who’s going to d-die?”

  Fala’s exasperated sigh sent chills down C.J.’s spine. “You disappoint me, C.J. Instead of trying to figure out the riddle, you expect me to tell you the answer. That’s against the rules. If you want to win, you have to do it on your own.”

  She sat silent, her mind whirling, but Harley motioned for her to keep the caller talking. No dead air—one of his cardinal rules.

  She straightened in her chair and tried again. “Okay, Fala—if that’s your real name—tell me more about this game you’re playing that’s going to end in someone’s death. Surely you don’t expect me to believe that, do you?”

  A shrill laugh echoed in C.J.’s ear. “You’d better believe it. I’m not afraid to kill.”

  C.J.’s. shaking fingers clutched the edge of the console. “But why would you do such a horrible thing?”

  “Maybe it’s because of the look in their eyes.”

  “What do you mean?”

  There was a moment of hesitation. “Because they never expect it. And when they realize what’s happening, it’s too late.”

  This was escalating into a horrible nightmare. Mitch’s warning flashed into her mind, but she pushed it aside. “Fala, you can’t be serious.”

  The laughter increased. “Oh, but I am. I’m about to kill someone, somewhere in Oxford, and the only way you can stop me is to figure out the riddle. If you haven’t done it yet, you’re not going to. So this one’s for you, C.J.”

  The phone clicked in her ear, leaving behind a dead silence that chilled her blood and sent goose bumps flying over her flesh. Harley’s clenched fist shot into the air, and he mouthed a big “All right” as the board lit up with calls.

  C.J. covered her face with her hands and shook. Never in her life had she heard such hatred in a voice. Could Fala be telling the truth? Was someone about to die?