Free Midnight Caller by Leslie Tentler

youth.”
    â€œAnd I thought you had to go to a plastic surgeon for that.”
    A hush erupted over the airwaves. For a moment, Rain thought Dante had hung up. But when he spoke again, his tone morphed into something churlish and threatening. “Mocking me can be very dangerous, little one. I’d take great pleasure in disciplining you.”
    He can’t touch you through the airwaves. Rain repeated Trevor’s statement in her head like a mantra.
    â€œI meant what I said last night,” he whispered. “You’d be lovely, tied up and bleeding for me.”
    â€œYou’re insane.” Her comment was swallowed up in dead air. Dante was gone. David cut to a block of ad spots, and an upbeat jingle for the Clean Cajun car wash began playing over the station’s intercom. Rain felt the last of her courage desert her. She shut off the speakers that fed into the broadcast booth, cutting off the absurdly happy lyrics about clean, shiny cars.
    â€œI think I pissed him off,” she said as Trevor appeared in the booth a few moments later.
    â€œYou did fine,” he assured her. “We’ve narrowed the caller’s proximity to a five-block radius. The call came from somewhere on North Rampart, near Armstrong Park. I’m working with the local police on this—they’ve got squad cars en route.”
    â€œHe wasn’t in the Quarter?”
    â€œNo.” His cell phone rang, and Trevor spoke with whoever was on the other end of the line. She listened as he gave a description—white male, late-thirties to mid-forties, well educated. The image seemed pedestrian to her, as if Dante might be her balding optometrist or the bookish accountant who did her taxes. It didn’t match the freak she’d been conversing with on air, a man who’d clearly had some psychotic break with reality.
    â€œTell the units to ask around, see if anyone saw a man matching that description in the area,” Trevor instructed. “That’s a predominantly black neighborhood. A white male, probably driving a luxury sedan or SUV, might be remembered.”
    He closed the phone and went to where Rain sat at her desk. Dropping down beside her, his eyes sought hers. “I’ve got to get over there. Are you going to be all right?”
    â€œWe’re going to have to do this again, aren’t we?”
    â€œThis is the guy, I’m even more sure of it. He’s going to call again.”
    A chill swept over her, and she realized she was grasping his hand. “You gave a description of the killer. Someone’s seen him?”
    Trevor shook his head. “It’s a profile of the unsub—”
    Seeing her confusion, he added, “Unknown subject of an investigation. The profilers at the VCU are good at what they do, but there’s a lot about this one that doesn’t add up. Based on his voice, the race and age sound right, as does the level of education. It’s just…”
    His words trailed away. Rain realized he was censoring what he told her, shading and erasing the things he didn’t want her to know. They both became aware of David’s presence in the doorway. Discreetly sliding his fingers from hers, Trevor stood.
    â€œThere’s another twenty minutes in the show, but we can play music if you’re not up to it,” David offered, looking at Rain. “You’ll need to queue out at the end of the segment.”
    She nodded. “Thanks.”
    Trevor spoke to David. “Could we have a word?”
    The men went into the hall, but Rain could still hear their voices in fragmented conversation.
    Would like to station a uniform in her house… Not necessary. I’ll be staying with her tonight… Then at least have a unit conduct regular drive-bys…
    How afraid should she be? Rain was certain Dante had known she was lying when she claimed to be unfamiliar with bloodplay. As a psychologist, she understood the