“Exactly when did you first see this?” she asked.
“When I got back from lunch, about ten minutes before you walked in here.”
“The mail wasn’t there before you left?”
“No.”
So the writer could have seen her in the producer’s office, Callie thought with a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach. He or she could have slipped into Terry’s dressing room just minutes before he got back from lunch. Trying to compose herself for Terry’s sake, since the note had clearly rattled him enough to make him try to call off her investigation, she glanced over the single page again.
“Well, that’s not so bad, really,” she said, attempting a smile of pure bravado.
“Not so bad,” Terry echoed incredulously. “It means I’ve drawn you into the middle of this.”
“Whatever this is,” Callie said. “Let’s think a minute. It seems to me there are a couple of things we need to figure out.”
“Figuring out one would suit me just fine—namely, who’s doing this.”
“Somebody with an ax to grind.”
“Well, duh,” Terry said sarcastically. “I guess so.”
“Don’t get smart with me, mister. I’m the cop, remember?”
He grinned at that. “Sweet heaven, I’ve created a monster.”
“You don’t want me on the case, there’s always Hank Parker. He’s hot to start digging.”
Terry looked alarmed. “Exactly how much did you tell him?”
“Just enough to get some advice.”
“Which was?”
“To tell him the rest of it.”
“You know I can’t do that.”
“I don’t know any such thing. You can, but you won’t. Terry, he’ll keep it confidential.”
“And exactly how do you envision him investigating it—from his beat in midtown?” He paced from one side of the cramped office to the other, pausing only to say, “I’ll tell you how. He’ll be lurking around the set, poking and prodding until he has everyone in a complete tizzy. How long do you figure it will take before our mysterious fan guesses why he’s really here? Five minutes? Ten? Don’t you imagine his little visit with you yesterday was behind this latest note?”
“It could have been that,” Callie conceded, then added with some reluctance, “Or it could have been my dinner last night with Lisa.”
“Lisa?” he repeated with a groan. “I suppose you asked her all sorts of innocent little questions, too.”
Callie glared at him. “You’re the one who wanted me to investigate. Don’t start criticizing the way I decided to go about it.”
“But Lisa, of all people. She’s the biggest gossip on the set.”
“Exactly, which means she knows the most about what goes on.”
“Did Little Miss Mouth give you any hot leads?”
Callie was growing increasingly tired of his mocking attitude. “Terry, I don’t have to do this. I don’t even want to do this. I want you to turn it over to a professional. Maybe he’ll know how to investigate without getting caught at it. That is why they call them undercover cops, you know.”
Terry ran his fingers through his hair, which had already been sexily tousled for that afternoon’s taping. The hairstylist was going to have a conniption.
“Look, I’m sorry,” he apologized with enough sincerity to cool her temper. “I know you’re doing the best you can. It’s my fault for dragging you into the middle of it. Maybe it’s time to stop, though.”
“Do you honestly think if you leave it alone, it’s going to go away?”
“It might.”
“If all the person wanted was to rattle your chains, maybe so, but I think it’s more than that. There’s an agenda here that we’re just not getting, and frankly, it’s beginning to scare me.”
Terry sank back down into his chair, his shoulders sagging. “You and me both, dollface. You and me both.”
18
The litter of coffee cups in Jason’s office was testament to the long hours he and his programming team had put in finalizing the fall season schedule. Not that it was ever final. When the other networks made their announcements, he and his staff would be scrambling to fine-tune and counter-program what the competition had planned.
As always, Freddie Cramer was the last to leave. He poked his head into the office. “Anything I can do for you before I go, boss?”
Jason barely resisted the urge to grin. Freddie looked as if he’d been through combat. His normally pristine silk-blend shirt had coffee and ketchup stains on the front. His tie had been unknotted hours ago and was now draped unevenly around his neck. One sleeve was rolled up. The other was missing a cuff link but still hung to his wrist. His shirttail had pulled free. He looked a lot like the kid in the Peanuts comic strip who walked around in a haze of dirt.
“No, go home and get some sleep,” Jason advised. “You did a great job today.”
Freddie appeared too exhausted to be affected much by the praise. He murmured a vague thanks just as Jason’s phone rang. “Want me to get that?” he asked.
“No, I’ll grab it. You get out of here.”
When Freddie had gone, Jason stared at the phone and debated answering. Who would be calling his office at ten-thirty at night? Some media hound trying to scoop his competitors on the fall schedule probably.
Or maybe Callie? His pulse picked up speed just thinking about her. The overeager thump of his heart convinced him to take the call, even though he’d been resisting seeing her again lately just to prove that his willpower was still intact.
Unfortunately, although the voice he heard was feminine, it was definitely not Callie.
“Hello, Mother,” he said wearily. “What can I do for you?”
“Whatever happened to ‘How are you?’ Or ‘Mother, I’m so glad to hear from you’?” When Jason remained stonily silent,
