Threading her fingers into his hair, she asked, “How are you fixed for coffee?”
“I made a fresh pot a little while ago. Want some?”
“Mmm, yes.” Leaving him, she went back through the office to the kitchen, helped herself to a cup, then returned.
Jared was in the process of fading one song into another. Hesitant to disturb him, she waited at the door until the new song was underway. Then he motioned her to him and drew her onto his lap.
For a minute he just looked her over. He loved the way his shirt ended at midthigh to expose plenty of skin. He loved the way her pony tail bounced when she moved. He loved the traces of sleep in her eyes and the soft pink color on her cheeks. “You look great.” Unable to resist, he slid his hand down her leg. “Warm enough?”
“Uh-huh.” She took a sip of her coffee. “Jared?”
“Mmm?”
“Why country?” When he tossed a questioning glance back toward the cart rack, she said, “You could have bought any station you wanted. Why this one?”
“It wasn’t country when I bought it. It was jazz. And not doing well. My other stations are country. Rhode Island needed a good country station, so here we are.”
“When you bought the other stations, were they country?”
“No. One was oldies, the other two, top forty.”
“Why did you change them?”
“For the same reason I changed this one. They weren’t doing well as they were, and where they were, there was need for a good country sound. Besides, I like country.”
That was what she wanted to know. “How come?”
He gave a one-shouldered shrug. “It’s good music. Smooth. Relaxing. Fun sometimes, serious other times. The quality of the artists’ voices isn’t drowned out by lots of other garbage. You don’t have to fight to hear the words.”
“Do you listen to the words?”
He nodded.
“So do I,” she admitted softly. She was a hopeless romantic when it came to music. “The lyrics can be very poignant.” She was thinking that they dealt first and foremost with love, but rather than say it, she took another sip of her coffee. “Susan listens. So does Megan.”
“How’s she doing?”
“Megan? She sounds better on the phone. I’m going over to see her tomorrow.” Her voice thinned. “She has to start helping us with this investigation. We have so little else.”
“Nothing from the FBI?”
“Nothing. I’ve never seen a crime so clean. It’s incredible. There hasn’t been one slip up to give us clues. I can understand that Megan doesn’t want to think about the men who hurt her, but if she doesn’t think about them, they’ll never be caught.”
“Do you think she’s repressing things without knowing it?”
“I thought that at first. I’m not sure I do anymore. She doesn’t seem confused when I ask, just negative. She has to get past that. There must be something she can tell us about those men. Or where she was held. Or what they gave her to eat. If she had McDonald’s food every day, we’d know she was held near a McDonald’s. Mostly what we need, though, are physical descriptions. If she’d agree to work with a police artist, we might come up with a picture to circulate.”
“Won’t the men be long gone by now?”
“Probably. But we can track them down. God, I hope Megan gives us something soon.”
As she talked, Jared had felt the slow rise of tension in her body. It was always this way with Savannah and work. She was good at what she did, but she paid a price. It was up to him to counter that price.
Leaving an arm around her, he put on the headset and faded out the last song as he spoke soft and low into the mike. “This is cool country, 95.3 FM, WCIC Providence, and that was Highway 101. It’s two twenty-five on the CIC clock, with the temperature holding at a brisk forty-four degrees. Lock your door and settle in. I’ve got a string of six on the way, kickin’ off with the Trio—Dolly Parton, Linda Ronstadt, and Emmylou Harris. This is Jared Snow in the heart of the night, I’ll be back.…” The music rose as he turned off the mike. Seconds later, he dropped the headphones to the console and looped both arms around Savannah’s waist.
“When will the trial be done?” he asked.
“Late next week, I’d guess.”
