Page 41 of Drop Dead Gorgeous

I just pointed at the answering machine.

He hit the replay button, and obligingly the whisper came again.“I know you’re alone.”

His expression was hard and unreadable. Without a word he went back into the living room, picked up the remote, and turned off the television. Then he came back and replayed the message again.

“I know you’re alone.”

The little window gave the date and time of the message, as well as the name and phone number of the caller. The message had been left by that Denver caller, at 12:04 a.m., today’s date.

He immediately accessed Caller ID. When the same person called more than once, it didn’t show that call separately from the first one, it just showed the total number of calls from that number. The Denver weirdo had called me forty-seven times, the last time at 3:27 this morning.

“How long has this been going on?” he asked, tight-lipped, as he fished his cell phone from its clip on his belt.

“You know how long it’s been going on. You answered the second call yourself, last Friday night after I got home from the hospital, while we were eating pizza.”

He nodded as he thumbed a number on his cell. “Foster, this is Bloodsworth,” he said into the phone, still keeping me hooked to his side with his free arm around me. “I have a situation here. Someone has been calling Blair, forty-seven times since last Friday—” He stopped and looked at me. “Or have you erased your Caller ID log since you got home from the hospital?”

I shook my head. Erasing Caller ID wasn’t high on my list of things to do.

“Okay. Forty-seven times. Last night, the caller left a message that makes me think Blair’s residence is under surveillance.”

“Surveillance?” I squeaked, completely unnerved by the thought. “Holyshit!”

Wyatt squeezed me, either in comfort or to tell me to keep the comments down, take your pick. I picked comfort.

“The Caller ID log shows a number, and Denver, Colorado, which leads me to believe this is a calling card number,” he continued. “How do we stand on tracing those numbers? That’s what I thought. Shit. Okay.” He listened a moment, then looked at my phone/answering machine. “It’s digital. Okay. I’ll bring it in.”

He flipped his cell phone shut and hooked it back on his belt, then unplugged my phone from both the phone jack and electrical outlet, wrapping the cords around the base unit to hold the cordless receiver in place.

“Are you taking my phone into custody?” I demanded.

“Yeah. Damn it, I wish you’d said something before now.”

Well, that did it. “Excuse the hell out of me!” I yelped indignantly. “I do believe I called you the first time she said something; remember last Saturday, and the woman who whispered,‘Too bad I missed’? You said something about it being a crank call. As for all these other times, I think they were all last night, because I haven’t noticed anything on Caller ID and there certainly hasn’t been a message before now. After the fourth one last night, I turned the ringer off on all the phones.”

He whipped around to glare at me. “Are you saying this is the same voice as before?”

“Yeah, I am,” I said in a belligerent tone. “Yes, I know it’s a whisper. The other time she whispered, too. No, I can’t be one hundred damn percent certain, but I’m ninety-nine percent sure that’s the same voice, and I think it’s a woman! So there!” Mature and reasonable, that’s me.

“Not only that,” I continued, on a roll now, “a woman has been following me! Take it to the bank, Lieutenant! It was a woman who tried to flatten me in the mall parking lot, a woman who’s been making harassing phone calls to me—gee, what are the odds thatthree different womenhave all of a sudden got it in for me? Not very high, right? My goodness, do you think it might be thesame frickin’ woman?”

One might reasonably add “sarcastic” to my list of characteristics.

“Might be,” said Wyatt, grim-faced. “Who have you pissed off now?”

Chapter

Seventeen

“Other than you?” I asked sweetly.

“In case you haven’t checked lately, I’m not a woman.” He proved it, catching me to him with his free arm, still holding the phone in his other hand. I expected him to kiss me and I was prepared to bite, something I haven’t done since the first time Mom took me to the dentist, unless you want to count the time I bit…never mind. Something of my intent must have shown on my face because he laughed and pulled me full against him, prodding me with his erection.

I shoved myself away, staring at him, my mouth open in shock. “I don’t believe this! You just find out someone’sstalkingme, and you have ahard-on? That’sperverted!”

He gave a one-shouldered shrug. “It’s this little hissy fit you’re throwing. Does it to me every time.”

“I amnotthrowing a hissy fit!” I shouted. “I amrighteously angry!”

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