Free Don't Say A Word by Barbara Freethy Page A

watching the computer screen in front of her count down the seconds. "You've been listening to 'World Journeys with Julia.' Join me again tomorrow from one to three, when we'll take a musical tour through the Congo. Next up is jazz specialist Kenny Johnson." She punched the button to play the string of commercials that separated their segments. "Have a good show," she said to Tracy as she stood up.
        "You have a good-whatever," Tracy said with a sly smile. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do."
        "That leaves me a lot of options."
        "Just remember you're not married yet. You can still change your mind."
        "That won't happen." Julia picked up her bag and walked into the production room where Alex was waiting. "You were supposed to meet me at my apartment."
        "I thought I'd check out where you work. I didn't picture you as a DJ," he added with a smile, "but you sound good on the radio. You have a great voice."
        "Thanks." She wasn't surprised he didn't see her as a disc jockey. Most people thought DJs were wacky people, which might be true for some, but not all, especially not at KCLM, which played a wide variety of music. "I'm also a producer for some of our other shows. We're a small station. Everyone wears more than one hat." She waved her hand toward the massive collection of CDs in the room. "I'm a music fanatic, in case you were wondering."
        "Then it sounds like you have the right job."
        "It's perfect for me. Do you like music?"
        "I play a little guitar," he admitted. "When I'm home, which isn't often. What about you?"
        "I play the piano, the drums, and a little saxophone. I'm pretty much mediocre at them all," she said candidly. "I would have been a musician if I'd had any talent. Instead I play other people's masterpieces."
        He grinned. "The next best thing."
        "Exactly."
        "I enjoyed hearing Paolo Menendez," Alex added. "I saw him perform in Cartagena. He played an acoustic guitar solo that was out of this world."
        "You saw him play?" she echoed, feeling extremely envious. "It must have been amazing. I would kill to hear him in person, but he never travels to America."
        "Maybe you should go to Cartagena."
        "That's a thought," she replied, but she knew it was impossible. There was no way she'd ever get Michael to Cartagena.
        "Does your fiancé share your passion for music?" Alex asked curiously.
        She shook her head. "Not really. Michael likes pop and rock, but he listens mostly to sports radio. Anyway, I wanted to show you this." She reached into her handbag and pulled out the matryoshka doll.
        "It's a Russian nesting doll. I found it in my mother's things. It's my doll. I remembered that as soon as I saw it."
        She watched for his reaction, but Alex didn't give anything away. Instead he took the doll from her hand and studied the design.
        "There are smaller dolls inside," she added.
        He set the doll on the desk and took it apart, one piece after the other.
        "What do you think?" she asked.
        "I don't know. It's just a doll."
        "It's a Russian doll."
        "I bet they sell them here in the United States."
        His pragmatic answer disappointed her. "Don't you think it's rather telling that I would have a Russian doll?" she persisted.
        "Maybe, but it doesn't prove anything. The doll isn't in the photo. And there aren't any marks that identify this doll as being made in Russia."
        "Look at the swans. They're just like the swan on the necklace."
        "I saw that. Did you notice that there are dolls missing?" he asked her.
        She sent him a blank look. "What do you mean?"
        "The first two fit together perfectly, but there are gaps between the others. You have five dolls. I'm guessing that there were more."
        "I can't imagine where they would be. I went through everything that belonged to my mother.