Chapter One

 “Well, folks, that’s it for another episode of Lansing Love Lines, relationship advice for the twenty-first century,” Elizabeth said as she glanced at the paper in front of her. “As required, here is our lovely disclaimer. Advice given in this program is intended for entertainment purposes. Thoughts and opinions expressed are not the views of WKRT. The current time is 12:01 AM. The temperature is a balmy 39 degrees. The forecast for today is a high of 47 and mostly sunny. Well, Chip Logan is on his way in to carry you though to the morning show. Coming up next, the newest release from Coldplay. And remember, if you don’t love yourself, you can’t truly love anyone else.”

Elizabeth stood up and stretched. She waved at Chip in the next broadcast booth then gathered up her papers and coffee cup. She walked out into the bullpen area where she shared a desk with one of the other DJ’s. April, her production assistant, stood there waiting for her with a butter-won’t-melt-in-my-mouth grin on her face.

“What do you want? Elizabeth asked.

“Nothing. What would make you think I want anything?”

“I don’t know. That expression on your face?”

“Actually, I have something for you.”

“What is it?” Her eyes narrowed. A surprise from April could be anything from a candy bar to a sex toy.”

“You got...fan mail,” April shouted, dancing around the room, holding a stack of envelopes above her head.

“Give. I am not going to chase you around like I’m four.” Elizabeth balled her hands to keep from reaching up to grab them. “Now, give them to me.”

“You take all the fun out of things when you’re too grown up to play. You’re turning into a very dull person. Okay, fine.” April pouted, handing the stack of envelopes to her.

She snatched them from April’s hands, clutching them to her chest, then sat down and fanned them out on the desktop. She took one at random and opened it.

“Well,” she said, looking up at April, “are you going to help, or are you just going to stand there and watch?”

April sat down at the other side of the desk. They started opening the envelopes and comparing the letters. They both looked up from letters at the same time.

“Are some—”

“Did you—” April stopped to let Elizabeth finish.

“Are some of your letters, like, normal fan letters, and others are bordering on obsessive or a bit delusional?”

“Yeah, Miss Psych Major, but I was going to say weird. Except this one. This one is just freaking nasty. He included a picture of himself...naked.”

They sorted the letters into two stacks. Genuine fan letters went in one pile. People who would be suspects if anything every happened to her went in the other.

April opened the last few envelopes while Elizabeth looked for a box for the weird letters. She picked up one of the final envelopes and held it up.

“Is this one for you? It’s addressed to Inga Erickson.”

Elizabeth covered her face and groaned. She peeked through her fingers. April smiled sweetly. A smile ruined by the mischievous light in her eyes.

“Okay, fine. My mother named me Inga. My great-grandmother was named Inga. It’s an Erickson family name. It isn’t her fault that now the only women named Inga are flight attendants for Finnish Air or porn stars.”

“I can’t imagine which one is actually worse, ‘Would you like peanuts or pretzels?’ or ‘Ohh, baby, that’s it, harder, harder.’” April’s voice dropped to a breathy moan with the last comment.

“You know...” Elizabeth shook her head and sighed, rolling her eyes toward the ceiling. “...you are way too good at that. Makes me wonder how much practice you’ve had.”

“At least I get laid on a regular basis.”

“That’s because you’re easy, sweetie.”

Indignation flashed across April’s face before she smiled. “I am easy, aren’t I, Inga?”

Elizabeth choked on her coffee, nearly spewing it across her neatly organized stack of mail.

“Please, in the name of all that is holy, don’t call me that. It’s hard enough for me to get any respect. If people knew my name was Inga, it would be impossible.”

“What’s it worth to you?”

“If you do, I’ll tell Chip you have the hots for him.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, wouldn’t I? I’ll tell him your panties get wet every time he talks to you.”

“Who said I was wearing panties?”

“Have you no shame?”

“Nope, not a bit.”

“Okay, I won’t spill your secret if you won’t spill mine.”

“Deal.” April handed her the letter.

Elizabeth took the envelope. There on the front was her full name. It looked like a wedding invitation, with the thick envelope and the way her name was written on the front. She flipped it over, looking for the return address. There wasn’t one. The back was completely blank. Maybe in the rush to get them out they’d forgotten to write the return address on the back.

She slipped a finger under the flap, carefully breaking the seal, then pulled out the contents. It wasn’t a wedding invitation. It was a single tarot card. She met April’s gaze across the top of the desk.

“Okay, that’s weird. Who sent it?”

“There isn’t a return address.” Elizabeth flipped the envelope over to the front. “It’s post marked El Dorado Springs, Colorado 80025, but I don’t know anyone in Colorado.”

“Maybe you should put it in that pile,” April said, indicating the stack of letters they would send to legal.

“It looks like something my sister would send. She’d put in a note to tell me what it’s supposed to mean, usually. She can be pretty scattered sometimes. I’ll call her tomorrow and ask her.” She tucked the card and envelope in her bag. “I guess I should get home. I have an exam to proctor in the morning.”

She stuck her real fan letters in her drawer, putting off answering them until tomorrow. Giving April a small wave, she walked out of the bullpen.

* * * * *

Joss reached out and changed the channel on the radio as Elizabeth signed off for the night. The soothing strains of classical music filled the interior of the car. He scanned the dark parking lot. A few cars sat clustered together under the sparse security lights.

His vantage point changed every night. What had started out as mere curiosity had deepened into an undeniable need. One that left him sitting in a deserted parking lot, waiting for midnight. Midnight, when she said, “Good night,” to her listeners. And later, when she walked out into that empty parking lot, sometimes alone, but always in the dark.

It was a lie when he told himself he wasn’t almost stalking her. The fact remained that he sat in a parked car waiting for her to walk outside. That waiting was the only liberty he allowed himself. He would never follow her. He only waited. When she drove off into the night, he did the same. He held no delusions about her, or him, or them together. We can never have a relationship. Not even in my mind.

This nighttime ritual felt as if it had been part of his life forever, but in reality, he had first heard her only a month ago. He had half fallen in love with her voice alone. Her throaty laugh sent shivers of desire down his spine. Heat pooled in his groin when she spoke. After that, he’d settled into a routine. He rose and fed early so he could wait here in an empty parking lot or a deserted alleyway.

 He brushed his hair back out of his eyes. The smell of varnish was strong on his hands, causing him to chuckle in the darkness. He could lay all the blame on varnish. Varnish that dripped off his hands onto the tuning dial of his radio. Varnish that had made it impossible to change the channel on the radio.

No one had ever affected him like this. He had not waited for a mere glimpse of a particular woman since he was an eighteen-year-old home from military school. He knew too well that life, and war in particular, changed a man. No longer was he the boy who had blithely marched off to fight for his country. Nor was he the man who limped home weary and full of grief, only to find more reasons to grieve. He was...something else.

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