Crack!

Gabby set the coffee cup in the sink in the break room and rushed to the front door. What on Earth?

The front of Martin Tankersly’s Lincoln Town Car had plowed into the side of Clark McKay’s sporty little Mercedes-Benz.

She twisted the dead bolt and opened the door just as Mr. Tankersly hopped from his car. His thinning hair plastered to his round head in the rain. “Are you blind?” He strode forward. “You stupid idiot.”

Clark climbed from his car. “Sir, you hit me.”

Mr. Tankersly glanced at the front end of his car shoved into Clark’s. He lifted his eyes, hatred burning. “You pulled out in front of me! You weren’t watching where you were going.” He jerked a hand toward the automobiles. “Just look at my car—what you did.”

“You hit me. You were racing out of the parking lot.” Clark reached for his cell phone. “But that’s what insurance companies are for. Just let me call mine…”

Gabby took a step out of the station as Mr. Tankersly stormed Clark, slugging him in the jaw and knocking him to the ground.

She gasped as she moved toward the men, but Clark quickly recovered, causing her to stop. What was she thinking—about to get between them and break up the brawl? Had she lost her ever-loving mind?

Jumping up, Clark stared at Mr. Tankersly amid the rain. “Are you insane? What’re you doing?”

“You wrecked my car.” Mr. Tankersly took another step toward him.

A sedan, bearing the logo of a local security company, screeched to a halt adjacent to the wreck. A man in uniform jumped out. “Mr. McKay, are you all right? I called the sheriff just as you said.”

“I’m fine.” Clark sidestepped, shifting as Mr. Tankersly’s thundering fist sailed through the air. He glared at the man. “Are you drunk?”

Mr. Tankersly rushed for Clark, but slipped on the slick concrete. His legs flew out from under him, and he crashed to the ground.

A lone siren wailed.

“You need to calm down, man.” Clark stepped out of arm’s length of Tankersly, who drew to his feet. “It was an accident.”

Mr. Tankersly lunged for Clark.

The security man dove for Mr. Tankersly.

Gabby pressed her fingers to her mouth. Oh, good gravy. This was going to turn into a knock-down, drag-out fight. Where was McGruder when you actually needed him?

“You yellerbelly Yankee! I knew it—spineless and stupid.” Spittle flew from the corners of Mr. Tankersly’s sagging mouth. He jerked forward, hands balled into fists.

Clark moved around the guard and swung with his right hand. Mr. Tankersly dropped to the ground with a loud thud, followed by a grunt. Clark shook his hand.

Mr. Tankersly spit, red mixing with the puddles of rain forming in the indentations of the parking lot. He turned to his hands and knees, pushing to his feet.

“Stop!”

All three men turned to stare at her. Gabby slunk back against the building, shocked she’d screamed aloud.

The siren wailed louder as the sheriff’s cruiser whipped alongside the wrecked cars. High time he made an appearance.

Sheriff McGruder, with a large hat perched on his head, strode over to the men. “What’s going on here, boys?”

“This Yankee totaled my car. Just look at it, Sheriff,” Mr. Tankersly growled and swayed.

“Why’s your lip bleeding, Martin?” Sheriff McGruder narrowed his eyes. “Were you injured in the accident? Want me to call the paramedics?”

“Nah.” Mr. Tankersly spit again, then glared at Clark. “He hit me.”

“He hit me first. I was just defending myself.” Clark held up his hands.

“That’s true, Sheriff.” Gabby joined the men. Rain pelted her head, driving against the migraine forming. “Mr. Tankersly hit Mr. McKay’s car with his, then stormed out throwing punches.”

The shock of seeing a fistfight up close and personal had her emotions all knotted.

“That’s the truth, Sheriff. And this gentleman’s car here is the one I called and reported,” the other man said.

“Who are you?” asked McGruder.

“Walter. Walter Robinson, Mystique Security.”

“You been drinking, Martin?” the sheriff asked.

“I ain’t been drinking.” Mr. Tankersly’s eyes narrowed as he glared at Gabby. “And this wasn’t my fault.”

“Why, Mr. Tankersly, that’s an out-and-out lie.” Gabby fisted her hands onto her hips.

“Shut up.” He spat again, then turned his focus on Clark. “This is all your fault. Stupid Yankee, I’ll teach you to stay north of the Mason-Dixon Line…”

Faster than Gabby would have thought possible, Mr. Tankersly pushed toward Clark, fists flying.

A whack sounded as his fist collided with Clark’s cheekbone. Instantly, Clark threw his own punch, landing squarely on Martin Tankersly’s nose. Blood spurted.

“That’ll be about enough.” Sheriff McGruder yanked Mr. Tankersly by his shoulder, spinning him around to lay him facedown against the trunk of the Town Car. “Martin Tankersly, you have the right to remain silent—anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law…”

The sheriff’s monotone as he recited the Miranda rights droned on in Gabby’s ears. She didn’t pay attention, she moved to touch Clark’s shoulder. “Oh, dear. Let me get you some ice.” Men. “I’ll be right back.”

She hurried to the break room where she yanked a Baggie and filled it with ice. She turned and rushed to the parking lot, handing the homemade ice pack to Clark, who pressed it against his cheek and cringed.

“You want to press assault charges, Mr. McKay?” The sheriff had finished telling Mr. Tankersly his rights, and had handcuffed the man.

Clark nodded. “I believe I will.”

“You’ll need to come down to the station and fill out a report.”

“Okay.”

The sheriff waved toward the vehicles. “I don’t think yours can be moved until I get Martin’s hauled away.”

“I’ll call a tow truck.” Clark faced Gabby again. “Walter called me and reported Mr. Tankersly driving around the station’s lot. I told him to call the sheriff.” The bruise already forming on his cheek marred his disarming smile. “With a murderer still on the loose, I hired security.” He glared at Mr. Tankersly. “Good thing I did, too.”

“Gabby?” Sheriff McGruder interrupted.

She spun and faced him. “Yes?” Realizing how sharp her retort came out, she tossed him a feeble smile.

“Have you noticed Martin driving around the station?”

“No. But I’m in the studio most all the time. I was getting a refill on coffee when I heard the cars collide.”

The sheriff turned to Mr. Tankersly. “Why were you here, Martin?”

“Eric called and told me to meet him here at eleven.”

“That’s a lie.” Gabby stared at Sheriff McGruder. “Eric would never have asked Mr. Tankersly to meet him here. Eric doesn’t like him.”

“I’ve heard enough. We’ll sort this out at the station. I’ll talk to Eric.” Sheriff McGruder pulled Mr. Tankersly toward the rear of the police car. “Come on, Martin. Let’s not make this any harder.”

“Listening to a Yankee—what kind of sheriff are you, anyway?” He twisted to stare over at Clark. “And you…you’re as no good as that stupid adopted son of my dead wife. Good riddance to you all.”

Sheriff McGruder shoved Mr. Tankersly in the backseat of the cruiser, then slammed the door shut. “Mr. McKay, I’ll need you to come to the station with us now to fill out the complaint.” He moved to the door. “We can call a tow truck from the station.”

“Yes, sir.” Clark hesitated as he stared at Gabby. “I’ll call you later.”

“Walter and Gabby, you’ll need to come make statements as witnesses. It can wait until tomorrow.” Sheriff McGruder slipped behind the wheel of the cruiser.

The security guard nodded, then headed to his car.

“Okay.” Gabby wove her fingers in front of her.

“You can pick up your vehicle then, too. We finished processing it today.”

But she wasn’t listening anymore. Her mind was still caught on what Martin Tankersly had yelled out.

Adopted son of Mr. Tankersly’s dead wife? Who was that?

McGruder interrupted her thoughts. “You don’t worry about the investigation, Gabby. That’s what we do. This has nothing to do with that prank call.” He tugged the door to almost closed. “Don’t forget to come by my office and sign your statement.”

Gabby nodded, then slipped inside the station, clicking the dead bolt into place. Could Mr. Tankersly have been the one who called her? The voice on the phone had sounded almost familiar…but the call had been so short, it was hard to tell. And she hadn’t been able to stop and think about it for long since she’d been in the middle of her pro—her program! She raced back toward the studio. The silence filling the station sent her heart thumping.

The controls sat as silent as the dead air going out over the frequency waves. The phone lights, however, blinked up as rapidly as a Christmas tree.

Gabby slammed the headset over her ears and queued up her microphone. “Sorry, Mystique. The station is experiencing technical difficulties.” She pressed the button to play the next song, her heart sinking to her toes. One of her worst fears had just come to life…she’d allowed dead air time on KLUV. Advertisers would pull their sponsorships.

Not to mention the effect this would have on her show being syndicated.

And Clark could fire her.

In the front seat of the sheriff’s cruiser, Clark opened his cell phone. Anything to drown out Mr. Tankersly’s tirade from the backseat. Clark refused to argue with the man. Instead, he accessed the Internet, then went to his music selection menu. He selected KLUV and waited for it to load. Maybe it was silly to listen to the radio via his cell phone, but it made him feel somewhat closer to Gabby. Right now, he wanted to hear her voice, to make sure she was okay.

What was that comment about a prank phone call? He glanced at the sheriff, weighing his options. If he asked, McGruder probably wouldn’t tell him. Gabby was right—the sheriff didn’t take it seriously.

His phone indicated the connection had been made, but only silence sat in the speakers. Then Gabby’s throaty voice apologized for the station’s technical difficulties before music hit the waves.

She wasn’t okay. No deejay would allow dead airtime if they could avoid it. Yet she had. The incident with Martin Tankersly had upset her more than he’d thought. Or the call had her rattled. Either way, Clark needed to get to her—see for himself that she was okay.

Within twenty minutes, he’d been delivered to the interview room to wait while the sheriff processed Mr. Tankersly.

The interview room in the sheriff’s office was hot. And smelly. Clark leaned back against the metal chair and stared at the mirror. The one he knew was a two-way. While he waited for McGruder to come back with official complaint paperwork, he called his insurance company and reported the accident, had a tow truck lined up to get his car to Lou’s, and requested a rental be delivered to the sheriff’s office. All completed, and still he waited.

The sheriff entered at his normal slow pace and set a stack of papers on the table. “I’ll need you to fill these out.”

Clark reached for the pen. “So, what does Mr. Tankersly have to say? Why was he at the station?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but he claims Eric Masters asked him to meet him there.”

Tightening his grip on the pen, Clark struggled to keep his tone even. “Actually, since I own KLUV, it is my business why the man was on my property.”

Sheriff McGruder straightened his shoulders. “So it is, Mr. McKay. Either way, that’s his story. I’ll call Eric in the morning to get his side.”

“Don’t you find this all odd, Sheriff? That Mr. Tankersly was loitering around my station late at night for no good reason? Can’t you just consider that there’s something more going on than an open-and-shut case against Mr. Ellison?”

“Why don’t you leave the investigating to me, Mr. McKay?”

“And if Tankersly’s lying?”

“Then I’ll get to the bottom of what he was doing there.”

“What about Gabby’s slashed tires?”

“What about them?”

“Did you find any fingerprints or anything on the vehicle?”

“That really is none of your business.” The sheriff tapped the table. “Just bring those to the officer at the desk when you’re done. Lou sent over a rental right away. It’s parked in the lot and the officer up front has the keys.”

Which meant the conversation was over. No sense asking more.

Sheriff McGruder ambled from the room, leaving the door open. Clark completed the forms, then took them to the front desk. He picked up the rental car keys from the officer, then headed out the front door.

A light drizzle coated his head and shoulders. He slipped into the car with the rental plates, cranked the engine, and then adjusted the radio to KLUV’s frequency.

“…so call me, Mystique, and share your loves and longings. I’m Gabby Rogillio, here to play your dedications.”

Her voice was a life preserver in a stormy sea. Clark slipped the car in Reverse, checked his rearview mirror, then backed out of the parking space. While Gabby’s shift would be ending in a couple of hours, he steered toward KLUV. He could always use the excuse of giving her the information he’d learned from Aunt Beulah.

But he knew that was merely an excuse. Somewhere in the middle of it all, Gabby Rogillio had snuck under his skin.

And stuck there.

He waved at Walter when he pulled into the lot, then eased his car slowly around the building. Clark secured the rental, then headed to the entrance. Gabby would be the only one inside, and he didn’t want to alarm her.

The piped-in music of KLUV filled the vacant reception area. He’d have to see about hiring a full-time receptionist. Clark had high aspirations for the station, ones that involved a lot of calls, and not just to the dedication lines.

He turned, making his way silently down the hall. The red light over the studio door blazed. He peeked through the window to find Gabby hunched over a laptop, her brows creased. She wore a headset around her neck like an accessory. What could she be concentrating so hard on? With his finger, he tapped on the window.

She jumped, then waved him in. “How’s your jaw?”

He closed the studio door behind him and rubbed his chin. “A little sore, but I’ve had worse.” Heart thumping, he dropped to the chair in front of the control center. “How’re you?”

“I’m not the one who got into a slugfest in the parking lot.”

“Touché. I found out something today.” And he proceeded to tell her what his Aunt Beulah had shared with him about Sam Wood and Amber Ellison.

Confusion glimmered in her eyes as she took care of making more dedications before turning back to him. “I don’t know what to make of it all.”

“We can’t disregard your slashed tires and call, either.”

She queued another song, then stared back at him.

“I asked the sheriff if he’d found any fingerprints or trace evidence on your vehicle.”

“And?”

Clark shrugged. “He wouldn’t tell me. Said it was none of my business.”

“Sounds about right for McGruder. You’d have thought he would’ve called me earlier today to let me know I could pick up my truck instead of just adding it as an afterthought to ordering me to the station tomorrow.”

“True.” He waited while she did her deejay thing again, then smiled. “So I think we have a starting place for our investigation. Sam Wood’s and Amber Ellison’s past.”

“Clark, why did you hire a security guard?”

Because I’m insanely attracted to you? Probably wouldn’t be the brightest idea to blurt that out just yet. “Because I want to get the truth before someone else gets hurt.”

He couldn’t take it if anything happened to any of the employees. But especially Gabby.