Regina found herself laughing at Callie’s put-upon expression. She’d always displayed the same hint of jealousy whenever Eunice had gotten some sliver of parental attention that Callie had craved for herself but been too proud to ask for. She wouldn’t ask this time, either, Regina guessed.
“I suppose now you want me to do your mail, too,” Regina grumbled lightly.
Callie grinned. “Well, you are my mother.”
“I’m not cheap.”
“Terry said he was paying minimum wage.”
“But I am your mother,” Regina countered.
“Extortionist,” Callie accused.
“Good business. I suddenly sense a demand I never knew existed.”
“Don’t tell me I got all those business genes from you,” Callie said.
“And where else would you have gotten them? Not from your father certainly. Why do you think he agreed to let me take the corn to market?”
“I always figured it was because he was trying to work you into an early grave,” Callie said so bitterly that Regina winced.
“Oh, baby, that’s not true.”
“Never mind. I don’t want to talk about it.” To prove it, she reached for a handful of Terry’s mail. “So what are the ladies writing about our favorite hunk?”
“Callie?” Regina said softly.
Blue eyes clashed with hers. “Another time, Mother,” Callie insisted, her tone forbidding.
Regina accepted defeat for the moment. So much bitterness, though. Too much for a child to harbor into adulthood. It was so obvious to her now. How had she missed it for so long?
Holding back a sigh of regret, she glanced across the table and saw that the color had washed out of Callie’s face.
“Darling, what on earth? What’s wrong? You’re white as a sheet.” She reached for the piece of stationery Callie was clutching, assuming that it must have something to do with her obvious distress. Callie refused to give it to her.
“Let me see it,” Regina insisted, gently trying to pry it loose.
“No,” Callie said sharply. “Don’t touch it.”
“Why not?”
“Fingerprints.”
Regina stared at her. “Fingerprints,” she echoed blankly. “I don’t understand.”
Callie met her gaze then, her expression so serious and shaken that Regina felt the dull thud of her heart begin to pick up speed.
“It’s a threat, Mother. Against Terry.”
Surely not, Regina wanted to say. She had read a hundred letters or more tonight alone, all of them gushing with praise for the nice young man who lived downstairs. Why would one person want to threaten him?
She knew, of course, that there were a lot of crazy people in the world. Even in Iowa, old Mr. Kinsale had periodically waved his shotgun around, complaining about the government and scaring the entire town to death. He hadn’t shot anyone yet, though, and Regina doubted he ever would. She could see from Callie’s expression that this letter couldn’t be dismissed so lightly.
“You think it’s serious?”
“I do. Do we have any little plastic bags in the kitchen?” she asked, already heading in that direction.
“In the drawer beside the refrigerator,” Regina responded distractedly, her entire focus on the threat.
“What do you know about all of this?” she asked when Callie came back with the note sealed inside a clear bag.
“It’s not the first,” Callie said. “He told me about the others, but this is the first one I’ve seen.”
Regina’s heart skipped a beat. She didn’t like the idea of her daughter and danger being so closely linked. “You knew about these and you still took a job on that show? Callie, what were you thinking?”
Callie leveled a look straight at her, a look devoid of fear and filled with such determination that Regina saw no point in arguing even before Callie declared, “I was thinking that a friend needed my help.”
Regina knew she should have felt pride in that courageous answer, but she didn’t. She felt an unfamiliar sense of terror chilling her all the way through.
11
“It’s crap,” Jason declared, referring to the situation-comedy pilot that had been on the screen in his office for less than five minutes. “Next.”
“But, boss—” Freddie protested. As usual he was the only one of the three junior executives in the room to have the temerity to speak up.
Jason cut him off. “I don’t need to see any more. What else have we got?”
“Nothing that will impress you given your current mood,” Freddie responded, hugging the DVDs protectively. “I’ll bring these back tomorrow.”
Jason’s astonished gaze clashed with Freddie’s determined one. It had been a long day. They had started practically at dawn. Everyone was clearly exhausted, but Freddie was very close to crossing over the line. Jason sighed. So, what else was new? That’s why he regarded the young man as his most promising junior executive.
“Okay, everybody out,” Jason ordered. When all three men rose, he added, “Not you, Cramer. We need to talk.”
While the others made a hasty exit, Jason swiveled his chair to stare out at the Manhattan skyline. Shrouded in low-lying clouds and dripping wet from two days of constant rain, it was as gray and gloomy as his disposition. Not that the weather was responsible. He could lay his mood directly at the feet of one Callie Smith.
He’d made a cold-blooded decision two weeks ago that there was no longer any reason for him to see her. She was safely locked into a year-long contract. He’d personally overseen her wardrobe selection and knew she was going to be the fashion envy of women everywhere. The latest soap episodes he’d screened were dynamite. The media coverage had been nothing short of fabulous. The ratings were already showing the first faint signs of improvement. His job to save Within Our Reach was done. He had an entire television schedule to worry about. He’d already spent more time than he should have on curing the ills of one daytime drama.
The litany of excuses went on and on, but the truth was that the woman, or rather, the way she made him feel, scared the spit out of him.
His limo continued to pick her up morning and night, but he was no longer in it. He walked to
