"Don't." She cringed back; her eyes flashed toward the fire door leading to the stairs. She would have to get past him. She would get past him.
"Hey, what's going on?" The concern in Roger's voice had her gaze sliding cautiously back to him. "You're shaking. Maybe you'd better sit down."
"I'm fine. I'm leaving now."
"You'd better catch your breath first. Come on. Let's—"
She jerked back, avoiding his hand. "What do you want?" "Cassie stopped downstairs on her way out." He spoke slowly, letting his hand fall back to his side. "She said you were working late, so I thought I'd come up and see if you wanted to catch some dinner."
"Finn's coming." She moistened her lips. "He'll be here any minute."
"It was just a thought. Dee, is everything okay? Your folks all right?"
A new fear gripped her throat, digging in like talons. "Why? Why do you ask that?"
"You're rattled. I thought you'd gotten some bad news."
"No." Giddy with panic, she edged away. "I've got a lot on my mind." She barely muffled a scream as the elevator rumbled again.
"Jesus, Dee, take it easy." In reflex, he grabbed her arm as she started to race by him toward the stairs. She swung back to fight, and the elevator doors opened.
"What the hell's going on?"
"Oh, God." Tearing free from Roger, Deanna fell into Finn's arms. "Thank God you're here."
His grip tightened protectively as his eyes bored into Roger's. "I said, what the hell's going on?"
"You tell me." Shaken, Roger dragged a hand through his hair. "I came up a minute ago, and she was ready to jump out of her skin. I was trying to find out what happened."
"Did he hurt you?" Finn demanded of Deanna and earned a curse of outrage from Roger.
"No." She kept her face buried against his shoulder. The shaking, the horrible shaking wouldn't stop. She thought she could hear her own bones rattling together. "I was so scared. I can't think. Just take me home."
Finn managed to pry a disjointed explanation from her on the drive home, then, pushing a brandy on her, had watched the tape himself.
She offered no protest when he strode to the phone and called the police. She was calmer when she related the story again. She understood the value of details, of timetables, of clear-cut facts. The detective who interviewed her in Finn's living room sat patiently, jotting in his notepad. She recognized the gray-haired man from the tape from Greektown — he had snatched the little girl out of the line of fire.
Arnold Jenner was a quiet, meticulous cop. His square face was offset by a nose that had been broken, not on the job but by a line drive during a precinct softball game. He wore a dark brown suit that strained only slightly over the beginnings of a paunch. His hair was caught somewhere between brown and gray and trimmed ruthlessly short. There were lines around his mouth and eyes that indicated he either laughed or frowned easily. His eyes, a pale, sleepy green, should have been as nondescript as the rest of him. But as Deanna stared into them, she was comforted by a sense of trust.
"I'd like to have the letters."
"I didn't save all of them," she told him, and felt ashamed by the tired acceptance in his eyes. "The first few — well, it seemed harmless. On-air reporters get a lot of mail, some of it on the odd side."
"Whatever you have, then."
"I have some at the office, some at my apartment."
"You don't live here?"
"No." She shot a look at Finn. "Not exactly."
"Mmm-hmmm." Jenner made another note. "Miss Reynolds, you said that last portion of tape would have been taken this evening, between five-thirty and six-twenty."
"Yes. I told you, I'd fallen asleep. I was tense, so I thought I'd try this routine a guest on the show had suggested. An imagery, meditation thing." She shrugged, feeling foolish. "I guess it's not my style. I'm either awake or I'm asleep. When I woke up, I saw the second rose on the desk. And the tape."
He made noises in his throat. Like a doctor, Deanna thought.
"Who would have access to your offices at that hour?"
"All manner of people. My own staff, anyone working downstairs."
"So the building would be closed to all but CBC personnel?"
"Not necessarily. The rear door wouldn't be locked at that hour. You'd have people going off shift, others coming on, people picking them up or dropping them off. Sometimes even tours."
"Busy place."
"Yes."
His eyes lifted to hers again, and she realized why they weren't nondescript. He wasn't simply looking at her: he was looking in. Finn had that ability, that same quick, scalpel gaze that cut right through into your thoughts. Perhaps that was why she found him reassuring.
"Is there anyone you can think of? Someone you've rebuffed? Someone who's shown a more than casual or friendly interest in you?"
"No. Really, there's no one I know who would keep doing something like this. I'm sure it's a stranger — a viewer, probably. Otherwise I'd probably have noticed them taping me."
"Well, the way your show's been going, that doesn't narrow the possible suspects." In an old habit, he doodled on his pad. The doodle became Deanna's face, the frightened eyes and the mouth that struggled to curve up. "You do a lot of public appearances. Have you noticed any particular face that keeps showing up?"
"No. I thought of that."
"I'll take the tape with me." He rose then, tucking his notebook neatly in his pocket. "Someone will come by for the notes."
"There's nothing else, is there?" She rose as well. "There's really nothing else."
"You never know what we might pick up from the tape. Sophistication of equipment or some small identifying sound. In the meantime, try not to worry. This kind of thing happens more often than you think." And because she kept trying to smile, he wanted to reassure her. "You hear about the big ones, like that woman who keeps breaking into Letterman's house, but the truth is, it's not just celebrities who have to deal with obsessions. Not too long ago we had this woman focused on this stockbroker. Nice-looking guy, but no Adonis. Anyhow, she called him at work, at home, sent telegrams, left love notes under the windshield wiper of his car. She even had pictures of herself in a wedding dress that she had doctored with one of him in a tux. Showed it to his neighbors to prove they were married."
"What happened?"
"He took out a peace bond on her, and she broke it by camping on his doorstep. She went in for a psychiatric evaluation. When she got out, she decided she wasn't in love with the stockbroker anymore. Claims she divorced him."
"So the moral is, sometimes these things run their course."
"Could be. Thing is, some people don't have as firm a grip on reality as they might. You'd probably feel better if you tightened up your security a little."
"I'll do that. Thank you, Detective Jenner."
"I'll be in touch. A real pleasure meeting you, Miss Reynolds, and you, Mr. Riley. I've spent a lot of time with the two of you in my living room."
"So, that's that," she said as she closed the door behind Jenner.
"Not by a long shot." Finn took her firmly by the shoulders. He hadn't interrupted her interview with Jenner. But now it was his turn. "You're not working late alone anymore."
"Really, Finn—"
"That's not negotiable, so don't give me grief on this. Do you know what went through me when I saw you standing in the hall, terrified, fighting off Crowell?"
"He was trying to help," she began, then closed her eyes and sighed. "Yes, yes, I think I do know. I'm sorry. I'll bring work home when I have to."
"Until this thing is resolved, you need twenty-four-hour protection."
"A bodyguard?" She would have laughed if she wasn't afraid he'd take a chunk out of her. "Finn, I won't work late in the building. I'll even make sure I have a buddy when I go on any remotes or appearances. But I'm not hiring some thug named Reno to lurk over me."