Heart of the Night Page 10

  At night it was different. Jared Snow never interviewed anyone. He didn’t need a diversion, nor did his listeners. His voice and his music were more than enough.

  For a minute she listened to the music that was barely an echo in the background. Then, taking in a long, shaky breath, she walked into the room. She trailed a finger along the back of a Victorian settee, then along the edge of a modern marble piece. The combination was unusual. Looking around, she saw similar groupings. While the modern pieces were in sedate colors, the period pieces were made of distinctly modern fabrics. It was, she realized, a decorator’s twist on “a little country in the city.”

  “Do you like it?” asked a voice from the door. It was deep, faintly raspy, as familiar to her as the cracks on the ceiling above her bed.

  Aside from her pulse, which beat at a rapid tattoo, Savannah went still all over. Her back was to him. She didn’t know if she wanted to turn. His voice was so warm, so rich and wonderful. If the rest of him was not as warm and rich and wonderful, she would be shattered.

  So she prepared herself for the worst. In a split second’s pause, she imagined that he was an inch shorter than she, twelve inches wider, bespectacled and balding.

  Only then did she turn.

  CHAPTER 6

  He stood at the door with his right shoulder braced lightly against the frame. One of his hands was anchored in the front pocket of his jeans, the other hung loosely by his side. His legs were long and planted casually on the oak planks underfoot, but it was not the floor that commanded Savannah’s attention. Nor was it his pale blue T-shirt, or the flannel shirt that lay open over it, or his soft, snug jeans. The entire man took her breath away—his sandy-colored hair, rough-hewn features, broad shoulders, trim waist, and lean hips.

  Jared Snow in person was every bit as magnificent as the voice that seduced her each night.

  Her relief was so great that tears actually came to her eyes. But she held herself erect and steadily met the gaze that sought hers.

  “Do you like it?” he asked again.

  Most definitely, she thought, although she knew he had been referring to the room. “It’s interesting,” she answered quietly. “I think it goes with the station.”

  “You listen?”

  With a tentative smile, she nodded. When his gaze dropped to that smile, her pulse tripped. She felt touched. The sensation was so vivid that it frightened her.

  “Not many fans come around this late at night,” he said slowly. “They figure I’ll have dogs patrolling the grounds.” His eyes rose to hers. “Melissa and Rick thought I’d made a date for the show.”

  She smiled again, wistfully this time. Much as she might have liked it, she wasn’t his date. “Not quite.”

  His mouth twitched against a smile of his own. “I’d pretend, if you would.”

  She was melting. “I couldn’t really. I’m here on business.”

  “At this hour?”

  She nodded.

  He looked her up and down once, then studied her face, feature by feature. “You do look businesslike,” he admitted, “except for your face.”

  Unsure of what to make of his comment, she didn’t say anything. For if he was interested in her features, she was positively intrigued by his. His straight hair was a heathery shade just slightly darker than blond. It slanted across his forehead, swept back to cover the tops of his ears, then curved down to his collar. Just a tad longer than the current style, it was unique without being extreme. She liked it.

  She also liked his jaw, which was shadowed and firm, and his chin, which was gently squared with a hint of a groove at its center. She liked the straight, strong lines of his mouth and the chiseled cut of his nose. And she liked his pale blue eyes which were accented by his sandy coloring much like a clear sky over a beach. He was refreshing to look at.

  “Your face,” he went on in a husky tone, “isn’t businesslike at all.”

  With a single hard swallow and a blink to combat the spell she felt herself under, she said, “That must be because I’m tired. It’s been a long day.”

  “Then why are you here so late on business?”

  “Because I wasn’t sure when else to reach you. I knew you’d be doing your show at twelve. I was prepared to wait.”

  “Must be important business.”

  “It is,” she said, though for the life of her she didn’t feel any urgency at the moment. Jared Snow was a powerful presence. He excited her, separated her from all she had been. At the same time, he brought her an odd sense of peace.

  “Rick says you’re with the attorney general’s office. Are you a lawyer?”

  She nodded. “With the criminal division.”

  He arched a brow. “And you want to see me?”

  Again, she nodded. She knew she should tell him about Megan and ask if he knew of any possible link to the radio station. But she wasn’t ready to formally discuss business with him yet.

  And Jared seemed content to wait. “Then you’re a trial lawyer?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Any specialty within the specialty?”

  “I take whatever comes in. Since I’ve been at the AG’s office—”

  “How long is that?”

  “Five years. Since I’ve been there, I’ve prosecuted everything from larceny to murder and rape.”

  He looked puzzled. When she returned his puzzled look, he explained, “You don’t look like the type to try a murder case. You don’t look hard enough.”

  A staunch feminist would have bristled at his remark. But Savannah wasn’t a feminist. She did what she did, not to best the men of the world but because of a driving need to excel at whatever she tried.

  But he was right. She wasn’t tough enough emotionally despite her ability to function successfully in all outward appearances. She wondered exactly how revealing her face was just then.

  “Let’s just say,” she said and drew herself up to compensate for whatever weaknesses her expression might betray, “that I rise to the occasion. Of the seven murder cases I’ve tried, I’ve won convictions in five.”

  “Not bad.”

  “Granted, part of that is making sure that the case is solid before we go ahead with it. There have been times when I’ve been pressured to go to trial with a very weak case.”

  “How do you handle that?”

  “I plea-bargain.”

  His eyes held faint censure. “That’s a lousy practice.”

  “It’s better than nothing. If my case is shaky against a murderer and I go to trial and lose, he walks the streets. If I plea-bargain, he goes to prison—maybe not for as long as I’d like, but for a short time, at least, the public is safe.”

  Jared studied her quietly for a minute. “You’ve thought it out.”

  “I’ve had to.”

  “Have you been put on the hot seat?”

  “On occasion.”

  “By the press?”

  “The press, friends, family…”

  He seemed surprised. “I’d have guessed you come from a long line of lawyers.”

  “Why?”

  He was silent for a moment, then shrugged and moved on. “So you don’t?”

  Her mouth twitched at one corner. “Not quite.”

  “Hey, Jared?” came a call from every corner of the room. It was a second or two before Savannah realized that it came through the speakers. By then, Rick was saying, “Pizza’s getting cold, and you’re on soon.”

  Jared, who hadn’t so much as blinked at the intrusion, said a quiet, “Be right there.” His eyes held Savannah’s, and for a minute he said nothing. Then, effortlessly leaving the door frame, he walked toward her. With each step, he seemed to grow taller and more real. When he stood before her, a solid six-foot-two to her five-foot-five, she felt a soft humming inside.

  “Rick said your name was Susannah?”

  “Savannah Smith.”

  “Savannah.” He experimented with its sound in a voice that was low and gritty. “Savannah. Interes
ting name. Roots in the South?”

  She nodded. “My mom was born there.”

  His eyes twinkled. Actually, she realized, one eye did most of the twinkling. The other had a slight cast to it, which, if anything, only enhanced his appeal as he asked, “Is she a southern belle?”

  “She was. She’s dead now.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay. She died when we were twelve.”

  “We?”

  “My sister and I.”

  “Twins?” he asked, grinning at that.

  If his nearness had made her body hum, his grin turned that hum into deep vibrations. Her voice came a little higher. “Uh huh. Fraternal. Very different.”

  “Jared?” It was Melissa this time, interrupting the music with her own singsong call. “We need you, Jared. If you’re gonna take over at twelve, you gotta get in here.”

  The eyes that had been holding Savannah’s didn’t waver. “I have to go,” he said quietly. “It’s nearly showtime.”

  “What about your pizza?”

  “I’ll eat it between songs. What about your business?”

  “My business?” Her expression changed. “Oh God, I need a minute of your time.”

  He smiled. “You’ve already had a couple.”

  “But you’ve been asking me questions. If you hadn’t done that, I’d have gotten to my questions sooner.”

  “Mine were important. I wouldn’t have answered any of yours without knowing a little about you.”

  “Why not? I’m here as an agent of the state.”

  “I don’t know that for sure. I haven’t seen any identification.”

  Opening the side compartment of her briefcase, she quickly took out her wallet, extracted her office ID, and handed it over.

  He studied it for a minute, then said, “This is a lousy picture. How about a license?”

  Without a word, she gave it to him.

  He studied that for a longer minute. Then he passed both cards back. “I guess you’re legitimate, but I do have to go.” He said the last with a glance at his watch. It was a flat, black watch rimmed in gold, with a black leather strap that circled his wrist. Savannah found herself looking, not so much at the watch as at his wrist. It was sinewy, lean but strong, with a fine sprinkling of tawny hair. It was very different from her own.

  Too soon, the wrist moved away, along with the rest of the man. Savannah was horrified.

  “Mr. Snow?” She started after him. “Jared?” His stride was longer than hers, and he had a head start. Quickening her step, she called, “I won’t take long. It’s still five before midnight.”

  He was halfway through the front hall. “I have to go over the program log. I should have done it already.”

  “Two minutes.”

  “And rack the carts.”

  “One minute.”

  He’d reached the doorway. Without either looking back or stopping, he shook his head. “No time,” he murmured.

  “But it’s important!”

  Her words hung in empty air. Jared had vanished through a door at the end of the hallway. She was left alone again, and in the same spot.

  “Fool,” she muttered in dismay as she whirled around and pressed her elbows tightly to her sides. She had come on business, and she’d blown it. She had wasted precious time drooling over Jared Snow, while Megan was being held for ransom. Thinking about her great expectations, she realized the gravity of her failure.

  But then, she reasoned in a moment of pique, Jared had to share some of the blame. She had told him that she was there on business. More so than she, he had known how much time he had and when he would be needed. If he were a gentleman, he would have let her speak instead of distracting her with his sexy eyes. If he were a responsible citizen, he would have put her official business before his. She would have thought he’d do better than to waste her time.

  “Hey.”

  She looked up, but the sound hadn’t come from a speaker, so she glanced over her shoulder. Jared stood in the middle of the hallway. His weight was shifted to one hip, his arms hung loosely by his sides. Though the stance was as casual as ever, a small frown marred his brow. He looked a little annoyed, a little impatient. But when he gestured her forward with a flick of his wrist, she went.

  Well before she reached him, he turned and started down the hall. She followed. “If you wait until I get myself straightened out with the show,” he tossed back, “I’ll answer your questions.”

  “Okay. That’s fine,” she said, trying to sound as cool as he, although she felt suddenly light-headed.

  At the end of the hall he turned to the right, into a room that held two desks, a row of file cabinets and, on one wall, floor to ceiling shelves lined with tapes. The desks were covered with papers, pizza, and Rick. The file cabinets were littered with colored labels, the spines of the tape cases with identifying data written in black.

  But Savannah looked past all that to the glassed-in room beyond. She had been in radio stations before, doing her share of programs as a spokesperson for the AG’s office, so she knew she was looking at the sound booth. Melissa was there, sitting at a bank of controls with her headphones in place. She had one hand on the mike button, the other on a vertical slide as her voice came through the speakers.

  “… glad you could join us. We’ll be tapping into the news at the top of the hour, then Jared Snow will be here for your pleasure. I’ll see y’again tomorrow evening at six. Melissa Stuart for 95.3 FM, WCIC Providence, kickin’ in for the night with Holly Dunn…”

  With the release of the mike button and a shift of the slide, her voice gave way to music. After flicking another switch, she removed the headphones, grabbed a pile of notes she had nearby, and headed for the door.

  Jared was already moving to take her place, carrying an armload of carts he’d scooped from a shelf. “Thanks, hon,” he said, holding the door for her and then passing through it himself. It swung shut behind him. Making straight for the cart rack, he began removing tapes, tossing them into a pile, replacing them with those he’d brought in.

  “Want some pizza?” Melissa asked Savannah. “There’s plenty of it. It may be getting cold, but it’s good.”

  Taking her eyes away from Jared, Savannah smiled her thanks, but shook her head.

  “Then at least take your coat off. You’re staying, aren’t you?”

  Savannah shot another glance at Jared, who seemed oblivious to her presence, and sighed. “For a little while, I guess.” Tucking her gloves in her pocket, she shrugged out of the coat and laid it on the desk chair nearby. She set her briefcase on top of the coat, but it promptly slid off. So she knelt to retrieve it, settled it more securely, then straightened to find Jared staring at her. Actually, he was staring at her legs, then her thighs, then her breasts. By the time his gaze reached her eyes, she was trembling inside, but before she could decide whether he was pleased with what he saw, he went back to his work.

  Tucking her hands in the pockets of her hip-length knit blazer, which matched her navy knit dress, she waited.

  Melissa, who had been stowing her papers in a file cabinet, turned to Rick. “I’m set, babe. Want to go?”

  Rick answered by drawing his lanky frame from the desktop on which he had been lounging, reaching for two bulky parkas that had been stashed in a large wire basket on the floor, and tossing Melissa hers. She pulled it on, then went to the glass and knocked. When Jared looked up, she waved. He acknowledged her departure with a nod and returned to his work.

  Passing Savannah, she said, “Remind him to eat. He forgets sometimes.” Then, with Rick close behind, she left.

  Savannah felt something protective curl through her, and she looked more closely at Jared. He was lean, not thin. She could see the fine muscle tone in his thighs as he knelt before the cart rack. He was solidly built. He had substance.

  Taking a deep breath, she looked up at the ceiling. From there, she looked at the walls, on which were tacked an assortment of posters, photogra
phs, calendars, and notes. Then she looked at the telephone and thought of calls that came into the station. In the next breath she thought of Megan.

  A small shudder of frustration and fear shook her. She told herself that Megan was a survivor, that she would be all right. But she had been gone for two days. Savannah didn’t want to guess at how she was being treated, but in idle moments like these, she couldn’t help but wonder.

  Sensing the beginnings of a quaking inside, she turned anxiously back to Jared. The sight of him helped. He was calm and confident. Looking at him, she felt the same comfort that came with the sound of his voice on the radio.

  But another voice spoke now. It was the news.

  Jared met her gaze. Taking in her troubled expression, he went to the door. “Want to come in?”

  She wanted that more than anything just then. Nodding, she joined him before he could change his mind. When the door to the booth was securely closed behind her, he took a seat at the control board, put the headphones around his neck, and faced her.

  “We have three minutes before I’m on,” he warned, but he didn’t seem annoyed that she was there. Rather, he looked curious, even a little concerned.

  She started talking. “Yesterday morning, the wife of a prominent Providence businessman was kidnapped. A ransom note was left, but there’s been no follow-up and we’ve been over a good part of the county, looking.” She wrapped her arms around her middle. “Right about now, we’re stymied. So we’re stretching our imagination.”

  “Do you want to sit down?” he asked.

  She guessed that she looked pale. But she shook her head. “I’m okay.”

  “What can I do to help?”

  His gentle tone was a help in itself, but she had more to ask. “The ransom note was strangely worded. It said, ‘Kick in a cool three million.’ I couldn’t help but think of WCIC. The sound is the same.”

  “It’s our thing. Country in the city. CIC. Kickin’ in this, kickin’ up that, kickin’ back to something else.”

  “I know,” she said, then stopped short.

  “All my DJs use it, and I can personally vouch for each and every one. None of them would even remotely be involved in a kidnapping.”