The Truth About Elyssa. Lorna Michaels
kisses along her jaw.
“For me we are. I need some time.”
He sighed. “I’ll give it to you then…grudgingly.” His lips curved in a half smile. “But don’t make me wait too long.”
She didn’t answer. She wasn’t sure how much time would be long enough.
“One more kiss,” he said and pulled her close again.
When they drew apart, his eyes were as dazed as hers.
Brett kept strictly to the speed limit as he drove home. He didn’t trust himself to drive too fast; his blood still pounded from Elyssa’s kisses. They’d packed a punch he’d never expected.
“Whoa,” he told himself. This didn’t feel like the lighthearted affair he had in mind. This felt…serious.
But he knew his limitations. He couldn’t let this relationship become anything but casual. “Back off, Cameron,” he ordered himself. “She’s right. You’re moving way too fast.”
Still under the spell of Brett’s kisses, Elyssa wandered through the house. She measured coffee into the coffeemaker for tomorrow, turned off the downstairs lights and slipped off her sandals. Dangling them by the straps, she climbed the stairs.
In her room she glanced at the bed. If she hadn’t stopped Brett—stopped herself—they’d be there now. She’d done the right thing, she told herself firmly, as she ran her hand over the pillow. She needed to probe her heart and mind before she took the next step.
She went into the bathroom and slowly undressed. How would it have been to undress for Brett? To watch him undress? To feel flesh against flesh?
Her lips still tingled from his kisses. Her skin was still warm. She looked in the mirror. Dreamy, half-closed eyes gazed back. She touched her lips. How long since someone had kissed her like that? Never before, she thought. Never.
She slipped into a nightgown and was strolling back into the bedroom when the telephone rang. She jumped, then laughed. Probably Cassie, dying to hear all the details of her evening. Or maybe Brett was calling to say good-night.
She picked up the receiver. “Hello.”
“Elyssa Jarmon?” The male voice sounded faraway, disembodied.
“Yes.”
“This is a warning.”
Her hand tightened on the receiver. She checked her caller ID. “Anonymous.” Nervously she glanced out the window. The blinds were open, and she stood in a revealing gown, exposed to any eyes that cared to look. Hand trembling, she reached over and shut the blinds.
“Stick to clowning.”
“Wh-what do you mean?”
He laughed. “You know damn well what I’m talking about. You keep following in Randy Barber’s footsteps, you’re in trouble.” The line went dead.
Her legs shook as she sank down on the bed. She sat for a few moments, taking deep breaths, then when she was sure she could stand, she raced downstairs. She peered outside but saw no one. No strange cars, either. Then she checked all the doors and windows and made sure her alarm system was turned on.
Upstairs again, she tried to calm herself by considering what she should do. Be logical. Make a list.
She grabbed a pencil and wrote “call the police,” then crossed it out. She doubted she’d get much response by reporting one phone call. She’d done a story once on a woman who’d received dozens of calls from a stalker before the police paid attention to her plight. And in this case, what could they do when Elyssa couldn’t tell them who the caller was?
The pencil dropped from her nervous hands. Logic and planning hadn’t calmed her yet. Think.
She could call the telephone company and put a block on anonymous calls. Or tape the next call—if another one came—and try to figure out who was on the line. Yes, that made sense.
Frowning, she stared at the phone. That voice. She’d heard it before, she was certain. But where?
Chapter 5
Elyssa woke with a throbbing headache. She’d sat up for hours, gripping the fireplace poker, the nearest thing to a weapon she could find. When she finally lay down, every noise from outside, every creak and groan in the house had her leaping out of bed and grabbing her makeshift weapon. At last, near dawn, she fell into a troubled sleep.
Now she sat up, rubbed her eyes and massaged her temples. Along with the headache, she felt groggy and vaguely nauseated. She’d never had a hangover but she suspected they felt like this. “Coffee,” she muttered and trudged downstairs.
By the time she’d drunk half a cup, her mind began to clear. Last night she’d been so shaken, she hadn’t asked herself the obvious question, how did her caller know she was investigating Randy’s death? She’d told only two people—Brett and Derek. Now that she’d tipped him off, was Derek trying to frighten her away from a story he wanted?
The voice last night wasn’t Derek’s. She would recognize it in an instant even if he tried to disguise it. Would he have gone so far as to get someone else to call and scare her off so she’d leave this story to him and Channel 9?
With Derek, anything was possible. Well, he wouldn’t get away with it. She grabbed the phone and punched in his number.
“Derek Graves,” he answered in the too-smooth voice she’d come to detest.
“This is Elyssa.” She got straight to the point. “Someone called me last night to warn me—no, to threaten me—that I’d better stop looking into Randy’s death.”
“Good grief, Elyssa, what have you been up to?”
“Up to?” Though anger threatened to bubble over, she kept her voice level. “All I’ve done is talk to you. What have you been up to?”
“What do you mean?”
“Who did you tell about our conversation yesterday?”
“Nobody.” His tone implied that their discussion was so insignificant, he’d forgotten it the moment she left. “What did this caller have to say?”
Elyssa always paid attention to nuances of voice, and now she heard just the smallest tinge of uneasiness in Derek’s. Was he afraid the caller had mentioned his name? “Standard threat,” she said. “Essentially, he told me to watch my back.”
“Good advice. I hope you pay attention.”
Her temper boiled over. “Why the hell did you say that? What do you know? You did sic someone on me, didn’t you?”
“Good God, do you hear what you’re saying? You really are becoming paranoid.”
“I’m not paranoid. Jenny thinks Randy was murdered—”
“Murdered!”
“Yes,” Elyssa said, “and I’m beginning to agree with her.”
“If this bizarre idea is true, then investigating could land you in a mess of trouble. I’m concerned for your safety, sweet—uh, Elyssa.” He paused, and his voice deepened. “What happened to him could happen to you.”
“Don’t lose any sleep over me,” Elyssa said coolly. “I’ll stay alert, but I won’t stop digging until I know what happened.” Then she said what she wished she’d told her caller last night, “Don’t try to scare me off.” She hung up before he had a chance to say another word.
Elyssa sat across the desk from Amanda Pryor, coordinator of volunteer services at St. Michael’s. They’d been high school classmates but had lost track of each other. Elyssa had been surprised when she’d made an appointment to present her proposal for clown shows and found an old friend.
Bright