Midnight Caller Read Online Free

much?”
    â€œOlder than you can possibly imagine.”
    Trevor was lost in the conversation, oblivious to the speed at which he was running. The bar, a shabby dive where James Rivette worked, sat across the street. A Budweiser sign blinked in its darkened window.
    â€œAnd Rain? My name isn’t Daniel. It’s Dante.”
    Trevor ran into the street just as the speeding Cadillac turned the corner against a red light. The car slammed on its brakes and screeched as it tried to stop. His body contactedwith the fender, spun once and thudded on the car’s hood before dropping onto the oily street. Pain shot through his skull as the black Louisiana sky closed in around him.

3
    â€œW hy the hell did you hang up on him?”
    Rain glanced up as David D’Alba’s voice came over the intercom at WNOR. She could see him through the window that separated the production room from the on-air studio where she sat. He stared at her, his headphones around his neck and his hands on his lean hips. When she didn’t answer, he tossed the headphones onto the console and strode toward her.
    â€œThe guy was a creep, David.”
    â€œWhich is why you should’ve kept him on the line.” He went to the monitor to check the playtime left on a song track being used during the show’s break. Then, moving her microphone out of the way, he parked himself on the desk’s edge and stretched out his long legs on either side of her chair.
    â€œSo his questions were a little out of line,” he remarked. “It was making for a good show.”
    â€œHe asked me about Desiree.”
    David shrugged. “Everyone asks you about Desiree.”
    â€œHe wanted to know if I liked rough sex, among some more perverse things I’d prefer not to repeat.”
    â€œWhat can I say? We’ve got some sick puppies out there.”
    â€œI’m a psychologist, David. I’m used to all types of topics, but the rule is that we discuss the caller’s problem. I don’t talk about my personal life, especially my sex life, on the air.”
    â€œMaybe you should.” He reached out to toy with a strand of her red-gold hair. “It could boost our Arbitron ratings.”
    Rain pushed away from the desk. She stood and paced the small studio. “It wasn’t so much what the guy was saying. It was just—”
    â€œThe way he said it?”
    She ignored the smirk on David’s handsome face.
    â€œOkay, the guy was a jerk. We’ve established that.” Growing serious, he shifted his weight on the desk and folded his arms across his chest.
    Rain stopped pacing and leaned against the wall’s soundproof padding. In the production room, David’s assistant, Ella LaRue, was tidying up. She wore a tight, cropped T-shirt with D’Alba Enterprises printed across its front and an even tighter pair of denim shorts. Seeing Rain’s gaze on her, Ella offered a smile that was syrupy sweet, but her espresso eyes were cold. She leaned forward, her raven hair spilling over one shoulder as she pressed the intercom button.
    Ella’s honeyed voice flooded the room. “Thirty seconds and counting, David.”
    â€œRun an ad spot. We’re not done in here.” He looked at Rain pointedly.
    â€œMy listeners are primarily teens and young adults,” Rain said. “And yes, at times they say things for shock effect. But that man sounded much older.”
    â€œNow you’re an ageist?”
    â€œThat’s not what I mean and you know it.” She shook her head, unsure of how to explain the feelings the caller had provoked. Normally, she had the ability to blow off the freaks who occasionally got onto the airwaves, but Daniel or Dante or whatever he’d called himself had rattled her.
    â€œThere was just something insidious about him,” she said quietly.
    â€œI still haven’t heard a reason for disconnecting a caller during a live show.”