By Robin Caroll
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Extra resources for Dead Air
As he walked over to where he’d parked, Clark made mental notes of little things he needed to add to his to-do list of renovations. When he completed the house, it’d be restored to the glory it must have possessed back in pre–Civil War days. The house had charm, and it promised him a lifetime of happiness. At least, that’s what Clark chose to believe. He stopped abruptly when he got to his car. Apparently it would take a bit longer than expected for the locals to get used to him. One local had made the message very clear.
No more harassing callers, thank goodness. Enough was enough. She settled the headphones over her ears and leaned over her mic. “Mystique, we’re all praying for Robert Ellison’s full and speedy recovery. ” She flipped the switch, and the opening bars of “He Ain’t Heavy, He’s My Brother” filled the studio. ” Mr. McKay set the headphones on the desk and stood. ” Her heart pounded. How could she have been so rude? To her boss, of all people? His brows bunched. ” “I guess you want to get settled in Robert’s office?
She cut her gaze to him just as Carol Ann placed his pie in front of him. ” He nodded, sparing a brief glance at her before darting his focus back on Gabby. What was his deal? Every nerve in her body seemed to be on full alert. Suddenly, he shoved to his feet. Tall, the man stood well over six feet. And the muscle tone in those wide shoulders? Land sakes, he looked like some modern-day Adonis. Gabby had the overwhelming urge to fan herself. He paused two steps from her table, his earnest stare pinning her to the spot.