Free Hello, Darkness by Sandra Brown

This is Paris.
    By now she knew the dialogue word for word. As it played, she stared into her coffee mug, but in her peripheral vision she observed Dean. Individual parts of him. All of him. Surreptitiously she looked at his hands resting on the edge of his desk, fingers laced. He was slowly rubbing his thumbs together, and that, just that, caused a quiver deep in her belly.
    Only once did she allow herself to look at his face. He’d been gazing into near space, but he must have felt her eyes on him because he focused on her sharply. His eyes still had the capability of making her feel like a butterfly pinned to a corkboard.
    At one time, years ago, it had been thrilling to be looked at with that kind of intensity. Now it only made her remember things that should have been long forgotten. It resurrected sensations and emotions she had tried to bury and, until a few minutes ago, thought she had. She returned her gaze to her coffee mug.
    When the tape ended, Dean asked if he could have a duplicate made.
    “Of course,” Curtis replied.
    Dean ejected the tape and left the office only long enough to dispatch Ms. Lester on the errand. When he returned, Curtis said, “So you don’t think this guy is just blowing smoke?”
    “I want to listen to the recording several more times, but my first impression is that it’s worrisome at the very least. Ever get a call like this before, Paris?”
    She shook her head. “Listeners have reported UFOs, terrorist infiltration, asbestos in their attics. One night a woman called to tell me she had a snake in her bathtub and asked if I knew how to tell if it was poisonous. I get at least one proposal of marriage a week. I’ve had one offer of donor sperm. Hundreds of obscene propositions. But nothing like this. This…this feels different.”
    “Although he’s called you before.”
    “A man identifying himself as Valentino calls periodically. I believe this is the same man, but I can’t swear to it.”
    “Do you think he’s someone you know?”
    She hesitated before answering. “Honestly? I couldn’t sleep last night for thinking about that. But I don’t recognize the voice, and I believe I would.”
    “You would have an ear for voices,” Dean said thoughtfully.
    “But it sounds to me as though he’s trying to disguise his.”
    “To me, too.”
    “So it could be someone you know.”
    “I suppose. But I can’t think of anyone who would play such a horrible prank.”
    “Have you recently made someone angry?”
    “Not that I know of.”
    “Exchanged words?”
    “I don’t recall an incident like that.”
    “Have you said anything that would come across as an affront? To a coworker. Bank teller. Waiter. Grocery sacker. The guy who dries your windows at the car wash.”
    “No,” she snapped. “I don’t make a habit of provoking people.”
    Ignoring her annoyance, he pressed on. “Have you quarreled with a boyfriend? Ended a relationship? Broken someone’s heart?”
    She glared at him for several ponderous moments, then shook her head.
    Serving as a tactful referee in a conflict he didn’t understand, Curtis coughed behind his fist. “Couple of rookies, Griggs and Carson, handled this last night,” he told Dean. “They were going to check out the radio station personnel first thing this morning. I’ll follow up with them right now, see if they’ve learned anything. Excuse me.”
    Before she could protest—and how could she?—Curtis pulled his cell phone from the holster clipped to his belt and left the office.
    Instead of warming her hands, the ceramic coffee mug had grown cold within them. She leaned forward and placed it on the edge of Dean’s desk, giving the mug and the surface of the desk more focus than either warranted.
    Unable to avoid it any longer, she looked at him. “I didn’t plan this, Dean. When I came here this morning, I had no idea…I didn’t know you were in Austin now.”
    “I could have told you at Jack’s funeral. You wouldn’t talk