Kitabı oku: «Final Warning»

In his time on the police force, Mitch had never felt more helpless with a case than this one.

The newspapers were calling for Fala to be caught, and the citizens of Oxford were frightened where he would strike next.

Mitch had to find the link to these murders. He mentally checked off the clues: bloody handprints, a knife, a truck, a blond hair and C.J. The last one hit him like a punch in the stomach. For some unknown reason Fala had chosen to put her in the middle of the worst murder spree in the history of Oxford.

Chills raced up Mitch’s spine as he wondered what Fala had planned next for C.J. He had to find Fala. No way was he going to let C.J. end up as the next victim.

“If you want to get to her,” Mitch muttered, “you’ll have to kill me first.”

SANDRA ROBBINS,

a native West Tennessean, was a teacher and principal in Tennessee public schools. She now writes full-time and is an adjunct college professor. She is married and has four children and five grandchildren.

Her fascination with mystery and suspense can be traced to all the Nancy Drew books she read as a child. She hopes her stories will entice readers to keep turning the page until wrongs have been righted and romance has blossomed in her characters’ lives.

It is her prayer that God will use her words to plant seeds of hope in the lives of her readers. Her greatest desire is that many will come to know the peace she draws from her life verse, Isaiah 40:31—But those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles, they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint.

To find out more about Sandra and her books, go to her Web site at http://sandrarobbins.net.

Final Warning
Sandra Robbins

If we believe not, yet he abideth faithful: he cannot deny himself.

—2 Timothy 2:13

To the memory of DJ Stewart “Stewman” Byars, who gave hours of enjoyment to his listeners. Without his invaluable information this book wouldn’t have been possible.

Acknowledgments

Special thanks to Paul Tinkle, President and General Manager of Thunderbolt Broadcasting, for opening the doors of WCMT and giving me a behind-the-scenes look at the world of radio.

To Chris Brinkley, thank you for answering my questions and allowing me to experience live broadcasting as a part of Good Times in the Morning with Chris and Paul.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

ONE

Let’s play a game, C.J.

Her skin prickled at the words in the subject line of the e-mail. C. J. Tanner’s finger hovered over the delete key, but she pulled away, unable to press it. She clicked the mouse, and the message came into view.

Let’s play a game, I’ll send a clue,

The hidden answer must come from you.

To win a round you have to know

Where I will strike a deadly blow.

Fala

The strange message made no sense. A deadly blow?

As the talk show host of C.J’s Journal on WLMT radio, she’d received lots of creepy messages. But this one was different. How, she didn’t know, but it made every nerve ending in her body tingle.

The angry remarks from callers to her show flashed into her mind. Perhaps the e-mail was from Jimmy Carpenter. Maybe he didn’t like his suspected illegal drug activities being discussed by listeners of her program. One caller the night before had been irate because the police had only been able to charge Jimmy with drug possession during his latest arrest. To make matters worse, the caller had said Jimmy made bail right away and was probably already peddling his drugs on the streets of Oxford, Tennessee.

The shrill ring of the telephone jolted her from her thoughts as it pierced the morning quiet. Her heart still pumping in fear, her hand snaked toward the phone, but struck the coffee cup sitting next to the computer. With a cry, she steadied the mug with both hands before picking up the handset.

“H-hello,” she said.

“C.J., this is Mitch. How are you?”

She gripped the handset more tightly and closed her eyes as the soothing tone of her ex-fiancé’s voice poured over her. She wanted to cry out her relief that he’d called, but she bit her lip. He’d been the first person she’d allowed a peek into her heart, and now she was suffering the consequences of that choice.

As she’d done so often during the last month, she raised her left hand and stared at it. No longer did the emerald-cut diamond ring sparkle on her finger. When Mitch Harmon proposed, they had promised to love each other forever. It only took six months to dash her hopes of finally finding the happily-ever-after she’d always wanted.

She took a deep breath. “I’m okay, Mitch. How about you?”

There was a moment of hesitation before he spoke. “I’m fine.”

His image rippled through her mind. She wondered how he looked. Had he slept well, or were his eyes tired from lack of sleep, as hers were? “That’s good. Is there any special reason for your call?”

He released a long breath. “I wanted to tell you that I’ve been listening to your radio show.”

What a surprise. This was very different from his reaction when she first told him of the addition of C.J.’s Journal to the WLMT schedule. It was the type of program she’d dreamed about—a talk show five days a week in the prized afternoon drive time of radio.

She frowned. “I’m glad. Especially after you’ve been so insistent on my not doing the show. What was it you said? That I’d attract all kinds of crazy callers.”

“That’s right, and I haven’t changed my mind about that.” She could imagine his clenched jaw and the thin line of his mouth. She’d seen that expression often enough during their disagreements over the radio program. “It’s just that I see the dark side of life in Oxford every day. I don’t want you to be put in any danger,” he said.

C.J. closed her eyes and rubbed her fingers across her forehead. The memory of all the arguments of the past few months flashed into her mind. He’d been adamant that she shouldn’t do the show, and she’d been just as determined to show him and everybody else that she was up to the task. “We’ve been over this before, Mitch. I know you don’t want me to do this program, but I’m not giving it up.”

“I’m worried about you, and I miss you. It’s even starting to affect my work. I can’t concentrate, and that’s not good for a policeman.”

C.J.’s skin prickled, and she sat up straighter in the chair. “Well, we wouldn’t want to put Myra in any danger, would we?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Surprise laced his words. C.J. almost laughed at how slow on the uptake Mitch could be sometimes. Myra Summers, his partner, had been in love with him ever since they began working together. Everybody but Mitch knew it. C.J. hadn’t worried about it then because she knew Mitch loved her, but now Myra waited to pick up the pieces. A knifelike pain sliced through C.J.’s heart at the thought.

“I’m sure your partner has offered you a nice shoulder to cry on.”

Mitch gave a slight gasp. “Is that really why you broke our engagement? You’re jealous of Myra? For your information, she’s been a good friend.”

C.J. started to offer a retort, but suddenly she felt tired. She didn’t want to fight anymore. He would never understand how important her radio program was to her. “I need to go. I have to get ready for work.”

“Fine.” He was all business now. “But one more thing.”

“What?”

“Be careful with your editorials on the show. There are some dangerous characters in this town. It wouldn’t be wise to make them angry.”

Like Fala, she thought. For a moment she wanted to tell Mitch about the e-mail, but she bit her lip. “I will be, Mitch. Goodbye.”

She hung up the phone and sat at the desk, thinking about all the time she and Mitch had spent together. When they first met, he’d just been promoted to detective on the police force, and she was a struggling assistant to the producer at the radio station. She often wondered why he had chosen her.

With his dark hair, eyes like pools of rich chocolate, and shoulders as broad and strong as a college running back, he was too handsome for someone as plain as her.

He had often told her she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever known, but she knew better. For years her mother had expressed the truth on a regular basis. The words were branded into her mind as if they’d been spoken yesterday. Get out of my sight, you repulsive little creature. She had hoped her love for Mitch would erase those memories, but it hadn’t.

They had been so much in love, or at least she thought he had loved her. Apparently, she’d been wrong about that. A man who loves a woman should support her decisions, not try to control her by imposing his own ideas of what was best for her.

No man would ever treat her the way her father treated her mother. C.J. had escaped his rages, which often sent her mother to the hospital, but she couldn’t forget them. Those memories had never been far from her mind while she worked her way through college and landed her first job. She’d fought for everything she’d gotten in life, and she would never be manipulated and controlled by a man.

Not that Mitch would ever hit her. He was too kind for that. In fact, he talked to her about God’s love all the time and how he wanted her to feel the peace that came from believing. She laughed and told him she’d prayed often when she was a little girl. At night she’d cower under the covers and beg God to make her father stop hitting her mother, but it never worked. She’d given up on God a long time ago.

With a sigh she reached to turn off the computer, but her gaze returned to the strange message on the screen. If Fala’s intent had been to scare her, he’d accomplished this task.

Erase the message—that’s what she had to do. Then she could forget about it. Her fingers punched the delete key, and the words disappeared.

No sense of relief came. Instead a strong wind shook the house and sent an icy chill flowing through her body. Her heart pounded at the mournful song the gusts whistled in the eaves—deadly blow, deadly blow.

Twenty minutes later, C.J. backed her car out of the garage and down the driveway. Adam Connor waved at her from the sidewalk in front of his house across the street. She pulled to the curb and rolled the window down. Adam jogged toward her, the morning newspaper under his arm. His brown eyes and dark, straight hair, combined with his year-round tan, reminded her of a young George Hamilton.

He peered inside, his white teeth flashing behind his broad smile. “Morning, C.J. You must be running late. You’re usually gone when I get back from the gym.”

“I am late, but I wanted to welcome you home. When did you get back from Atlanta?”

Damp strands of his black hair clung to his forehead, and he wiped at them with his hand. “Last night. I sold my paintings and have some commissions for more.”

“Wonderful. We’ll have to get together and celebrate your success. I’ll invite Gwen. She’s really missed you.”

A shy smile curled his lips at the mention of Gwen Anderson, C.J.’s assistant. “I’ve missed her, too. When you get to work, tell her I got in late last night, but I’ll call her later.”

“Will do.”

He raised his eyebrows and leaned closer. “But what about you? Any news about you and Mitch?”

She tugged at her seat belt. “No, everything’s still the same as when you left.”

His smile turned to a frown. “I’m sorry, C.J.”

She placed her hand on the gearshift. “Well, work calls. I’ll talk to you later.”

Adam waved and backed away. She glanced in the rearview mirror to return the wave but hesitated, a sense of unease filling her. An unfamiliar black SUV was parked across the street from her house. She could barely make out the person behind the wheel, but it appeared to be a woman.

Her fingers tightened around the steering wheel. Could Fala be a woman? Fear rose in her throat and she swallowed, then relaxed. She was being silly. If she started worrying about every message she received, it would affect her work. Besides, the e-mail was just somebody’s idea of a joke. She pressed the accelerator and turned her attention to the morning traffic.

Juggling a cup of coffee in one hand and her briefcase in the other, C.J. stopped in front of the closed door to her office on the second floor of the WLMT radio station building. Gwen Anderson, her blond hair bouncing on her shoulders, hurried forward.

“Let me get that for you.” She opened the door and motioned C.J. to enter. “What are assistants for if they can’t assist the boss when she’s loaded down?”

Pert. That was the only word C.J. had ever been able to come up with to describe Gwen, whose blue eyes always sparkled behind the oversize glasses she wore. She had boundless energy that never seemed to flag. And her intuition! Gwen could foresee an assignment and complete it even before it was given to her. Gwen was a jewel among the staff of WLMT.

C.J. entered the office and set her coffee on the edge of the desk. She dropped the briefcase next to her cup and sank into her chair. “Thanks for the help, but you know I don’t think of myself as your boss. I’ve never had a better working relationship with anyone.”

Gwen eased into a chair across from C.J. “I should thank you every day for giving me this chance. I sure wouldn’t have gotten it if it’d been left up to our esteemed producer.”

C.J. tilted her head and arched an eyebrow. “Harley appreciates your work.”

A snort of disgust came from Gwen’s throat. “Sure he does. That’s why he’s been so quick to recommend me for a raise.”

“Now, Gwen. You know that’s Mr. Cunningham’s decision. Harley’s just our producer.”

C.J. leaned back in her chair. “I know you don’t like him, but he’s really been good to me. This new show is just what I needed.”

Darkness the color of storm clouds flashed in Gwen’s eyes. “Don’t be taken in by him. He thinks he’s the most important person around here. Can’t get along with any department. He calls the engineering guys idiots, and they take it out on us. I can’t get anything repaired—not even my printer.”

This wasn’t the first time C.J. had heard employees complaining about Harley. Every few days someone asked her to intervene in a conflict with him. Gwen was just the latest in a long line. “I’ll talk to Matt in engineering.”

Gwen crossed her arms and frowned. “While you’re at it, ask him about the WLMT sign. Ever since I was a child I’ve loved driving by here at night and seeing those tall letters standing on the flat roof of the building. They used to light up the sky, but not anymore. Have you seen it lately?”

The sign had been the trademark of their station for years, but like a lot of things around the building, it had fallen into disrepair. “Yeah, I noticed the other night the T was the only letter lit.”

Gwen nodded. “Right. You never know which letters will be illuminated. I came by here last night, and the sign was completely out. Now this morning it’s fine. How do you explain that?”

“Harley said there’s a short in it, but the company that’s supposed to fix it keeps putting us off.”

“Good morning, lovely ladies. Did I hear my name mentioned?” Harley Martin, his wire-rimmed glasses propped on his head, stuck his hands in the pockets of his wrinkled pants and stepped into the room. His potbelly hung over the waist-band and his belt looped underneath the bulging girth. He stopped next to Gwen’s chair and grinned down at her.

Gwen rose slowly and turned to face Harley. “Well, if it isn’t the genius behind the success of C.J.’s Journal. We were just talking about you.”

The mischievous gleam in Harley’s eyes contradicted the serious expression on his face. “I thought I heard you telling C.J. how lucky you are to work for such a great guy.”

Gwen glared and took a step toward Harley. “You’re impossible. I don’t know why I stay here.”

He winked at C.J. “’Cause you know you’re never gonna find another boss who takes such good care of you.”

Gwen’s face flushed. She headed toward the door. “I give up. See what you can do with him.”

Harley watched until Gwen left the room, then smiled at C.J. “You gotta love that girl. Best researcher we’ve ever had here.”

C.J. stood up, her gaze taking in Harley’s white shirt with the gravy stain that had been there the day before. One thing about her producer—he never would make the top ten best-dressed list. “Maybe it’s time to show your gratitude and ask Mr. Cunningham to give her a raise.”

Harley held up his hands and backed away. “Whoa, there, girl. We gotta hit the top of the ratings first. Then we’ll see who gets a raise.”

She shook her head. “Gwen’s right. You are impossible.”

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. “How 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.