Night Shift Read Online Free PDF Page A

home, take a long, hot bath and sleep like a baby.
    “KHIP, you’re on the air.”
    “Cilla.”
    The hissing whisper shot ice through her veins. She reached over reflexively to disconnect, but Boyd clamped a hand over her wrist and shook his head. For a moment she struggled, biting back panic. His hand remained firm on hers, his eyes calm and steady.
    Boyd watched as she fought for control, until she jammed in a cassette of commercials. The bright, bouncy jingles transmitted as she put the call on the studio speaker.
    “Yes.” Pride made her keep her eyes on Boyd’s. “This is Cilla. What do you want?”
    “Justice. I only want justice.”
    “For what?”
    “I want you to think about that. I want you to think and wonder and sweat until I come for you.”
    “Why?” Her hand flexed under Boyd’s. In an instinctive gesture of reassurance, he linked his fingers with hers. “Who are you?”
    “Who am I?” There was a laugh that skidded along her skin. “I’m your shadow, your conscience. Your executioner. You have to die. When you understand, only when you understand, I’ll end it. But it won’t be quick. It won’t be easy. You’re going to pay for what you’ve done.”
    “What have I done?” she shouted. “For God’s sake, what have I done?”
    He spit out a stream of obscenities that left her dazed and nauseated before he broke the connection. With one hand still covering hers, Boyd punched out a number on the phone.
    “You get the trace?” he demanded, then bit off an oath. “Yeah. Right.” Disgusted, he replaced the receiver. “Not long enough.” He reached up to touch Cilla’s pale cheek. “You okay?”
    She could hardly hear him for the buzzing in her ears, but she nodded. Mechanically she turned to her mike, waiting until the commercial jingle faded.
    “That about wraps it up for this morning. It’s 1:57. Tina Turner’s going to rock you through until two. My man Jackson’s coming in to keep all you insomniacs company until 6:00 a.m. This is Cilla O’Roarke for KHIP. Remember, darling, when you dream of me, dream good.”
    Light-headed, she pushed away from the console. She only had to stand up, she told herself. Walk to her car, drive home. It was simple enough. She did it every morning of her life. But she sat where she was, afraid her legs would buckle.
    Jackson pushed through the door and stood there, hesitating. He was wearing a baseball cap tocover his healing hair transplant. “Hey, Cilla.” He glanced from her to Boyd and back again. “Rough night, huh?”
    Cilla braced herself, pasted on a careless smile. “I’ve had better.” With every muscle tensed, she shoved herself to her feet. “I’ve got them warmed up for you, Jackson.”
    “Take it easy, kid.”
    “Sure.” The buzzing in her ears was louder as she walked from the booth to snatch her coat from the rack. The corridors were dark, catching only a faint glow from the lobby, where the security lights burned. Disoriented, she blinked. She didn’t even notice when Boyd took her arm and led her outside.
    The cold air helped. She took big, thirsty gulps of it, releasing it again in thin plumes of white smoke. “My car’s over there,” she said when Boyd began to pull her toward the opposite end of the lot.
    “You’re in no shape to drive.”
    “I’m fine.”
    “Great. Then we’ll go dancing.”
    “Look—”
    “No, you look.” He was angry, furious. He hadn’t realized it himself until that moment. She was shaking, and despite the chill wind, her cheeks were deathly pale. Listening to the tapes hadn’t been the same as being there when the call came through, seeing the blood drain out of her face and her eyes glaze with terror. And not being able to do a damn thing to stop it. “You’re a mess, O’Roarke, and I’m not letting you get behind the wheel of a car.” He stopped next to his car and yanked open the door. “Get in. I’ll take you home.”
    She tossed the hair out of her eyes. “Serve