Page 43 of Crazy Little Thing Called Love
“Oh, I think you know exactly why I’m calling.” A soft chuckle that made her skin crawl. “You see, I’ve been watching you, Faith. Really watching. I know you leave the studio every night at exactly nine seventeen. I know you stop for gas on Tuesdays at the Shell station on Fifth Street. I know you had lunch with your contractor’s grandmother last Thursday at that little café on Elm—you ordered the chicken salad sandwich and picked off all the grapes.”
Faith’s blood turned to ice. Through the glass, she saw Jake surge to his feet, his face darkening with fury as he processed what he was hearing.
“I also know,” the voice continued, silky and menacing, “about the man who thinks he can protect you. Tall, dark hair, drives that shiny red truck. He’s been sleeping in your house, hasn’t he? Playing the knight in shining armor. And Faith? That pretty little black Audi of yours…you might want to be extra careful driving home tonight.”
“Sir, I’m going to have to?—”
“No, no, no, Faith. You’re going to listen.” The playful tone vanished, replaced by something that made every person in the studio freeze. “Because here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to stop pretending you belong to him. You’re going to send him away. And you’re going to wait for me like a good girl, because we both know you need someone who understands what you really are.”
Faith’s voice wavered slightly. The composed Dr. Hartwell who dispensed wisdom to thousands was nowhere to be found. “I don’t know what you think you?—”
“A broken little bird who married the wrong man the first time.” The words were delivered with surgical precision, designed to cut deep. “Poor little Faith, all bruised and battered. But I know how to handle damaged goods. I know exactly what you need.”
Lucy’s hand slammed the disconnect button, but the damage was done. Faith sat frozen in her chair, the studio suddenly too bright, too small, too exposed. Through the glass, she could see Jake pacing like a caged wolf, his hands clenched into fists.
Lucy’s voice cut through Faith’s paralysis. “Faith, look at me. We’re done for tonight. I’m running pre-recorded segments for the rest of the show.” She leaned closer to the microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen, due to technical difficulties, we’ll be playing some of Dr. Hartwell’s most popular calls from our archives. We’ll return to live programming tomorrow night.”
Faith barely registered the words. She pulled off her headphones with shaking hands, her professional mask finally cracking completely.
The moment the recording light went dark, Jake burst through the studio door, Lucy close behind him. Faith was still sitting in her chair, staring at nothing, her face pale as paper.
“Faith.” Jake’s voice was gentle, but she could hear the rage simmering beneath. “Look at me.”
She turned slowly, and he saw something in her green eyes that made his chest tighten—not just fear, but a terrible recognition.
“He knows about Steve,” she whispered. “Things that were never in the papers. Things only…”
“Only someone close to the situation would know,” Jake finished grimly.
Lucy was already on her phone with Detective Webb, her voice sharp and efficient. “We need you here now. He called again, and this time we have the full digital recording. And Detective? He made a specific threat about her car.”
Within twenty minutes, Detective Webb arrived with two uniformed officers. Faith found herself in Lucy’s office, going through the recording word by word while Jake paced behind her like a caged animal.
“The car reference is new,” Webb noted, making notes. “He’s not just watching anymore—he’s planning. After what he did to that trailer, we can’t take any chances. I want that vehicle checked thoroughly before anyone goes near it.”
Faith nodded, her face pale but determined. “What do you need me to do?”
“Smart woman,” Webb said approvingly. “First, we check the car. Then I’m having patrol units increase their rounds at your house—every thirty minutes instead of hourly. Your security system hasn’t been triggered, but this guy’s proven he’s resourceful.”
The parking garage felt different tonight—every shadow a potential threat, every echo of footsteps making Faith’s heart race. Webb led the way with one uniformed officer, while Jake stayed close to Faith’s side, his eyes constantly scanning their surroundings.
“There it is,” Faith said, pointing to her Audi.
Webb held up a hand, stopping them twenty feet away. “Nobody gets closer until we’ve had a look.”
Webb nodded to the uniformed officer, who carefully approached the vehicle with a flashlight. After a few moments, he called back, “Detective, you need to see this.”
Webb and Jake moved closer while Faith stayed back. Jake squatted down, using his phone’s flashlight to peer under the vehicle. “There,” he said grimly, pointing. “Webb, look at this.”
The detective crouched beside him, following Jake’s light beam. Even Faith could see the dark fluid pooling beneath the car.
“Brake fluid,” Webb confirmed, his face grave. He called for backup and a forensics team, then turned to Faith. “Ma’am, if you’d driven home tonight…”
Faith felt Jake’s steadying hand on her back as the implication hit her. “Oh God,” she breathed.
An hour later, after giving their statements and watching the crime-scene techs finish their work, Webb arranged for an officer to drive them home.
“I don’t want either of you driving alone tonight,” Webb said firmly. “Officer Martinez will give you both a ride, and we’ll figure out transportation tomorrow.”
