Jennifer Blake - Luke

A pril Halstead gripped the phone so hard her knuckles ached. She stared at the book-lined walls of her office with her cane syrup brown eyes wide in disbelief. The words pouring into her ear were crude and vulgar. The radio control booth through which they were being funneled amplified the obscene threat they contained.

This wasnt supposed to happen, not on a live talk radio interview via phone with hundreds of thousands of people listening in. It was like a public assault.

Aprils heart beat with sickening jolts as she fought the urge to slam down the receiver. She couldnt do it. She was the featured guest on this early morning radio show that reached most of south central Louisiana. She should say something, anything, to stop the tirade, but her mind was blank.

A sharp click sounded as the radio host in his studio miles away broke the callers connection. I apologize for that incident, Ms. Halstead, he said in well-rounded, professional tones. It takes a determined caller to get past our screening, but some crank manages it now and thenone of the perils of a live show. I was taken by surprise, Ill admit. That reaction is not what youd expect during a show about love and romance with one of Louisianas best-known romance novelists. Certainly, its not the kind of thing a reader would look for in your books. Am I right about that?

Absolutely right, April answered. For a split second, she allowed herself to wonder if the show host had let the caller rant those few extra moments just to create a lead for that question. The idea sent a spurt of annoyance through her that helped settle her jangled nerves. I prefer to concentrate on the dynamics of the male-female relationshipthe most important relationship that exists among human beings.

The host wasnt about to touch that claim. Interesting, he commented. Then he went on quickly, So, just how do you go about constructing a romance novel? Where do you get your ideas?

They come from everywhere, newspaper clippings, magazine articles, sometimes just a comment overheard at the grocery store. April reeled off the rest of the response shed given a thousand times during more than nine years of interviews since her first book had hit the bestseller lists. Her usual feeling about such stock questions was resignation, but now she was happy to be able to supply an answer that didnt require fast thinking. The talk session continued with the hosts semiembarrassed jocularity for the intimate nature of romance writing and reluctant admiration for someone who had managed to sell several million books. There were, thankfully, no more surprises.

Minutes later, April said her routine thanks for the radio hosts interest and hung up the phone. She clasped her hands tightly together on her desktop to still their shaking. Squeezing her eyes shut, she breathed deep in an effort at composure. The interview was a jumble in her mind other than the first one or two questions. She had no idea whether it had gone well or been a complete flop.

The pressure inside her brain made her feel sick. The urge to jump up and pace while cursing and screaming was so strong she barely subdued it. What held her back was the fear that once she started, she might not be able to stop.

She didnt like phone interviews, even if they could be done from the comfort of her own home while wearing her scruffiest jeans and sweatshirt. They were much too impersonal and it was hard to judge the purpose and direction of questions without visual clues. The call-in radio shows were the worst since it was impossible to guess what people were like or what they might say. Still, shed never before fielded an obscene call while on the air. That kind of cheap shot was upsetting in the privacy of her home, much less with half the state listening.

Book promotion in general tore her nerves to shreds. Why writers were expected to excel at it was a great mystery. Most were natural introverts; April had begun writing years ago at least in part because putting words on paper was easier than speaking them aloud. Shed learned to do media interviews because they were part of the job, but getting psyched up for them was always a major effort. It amazed her when someone told her she was good at the promo business since she couldnt see it herself.

Shed been expecting to be revealed as a fraud for some time. Maybe that day had come. It would be about right. Nothing else in her life was going as it should just now.

The doorbell shrilled. April jumped and inhaled with a sharp sound. Before she could force herself to move, it pealed again, an impatient summons from the antique brass pull at the front door of the old Louisiana mansion. She slid from her desk chair and went to see who was visiting at this early hour.

A man stood on her front porch with his hands on his hips and a frown on his face. As she peered through the lace curtain over the doors sidelights, she could see his hair shining with blue-black luster, his eyes like rain-wet obsidian. His copper-tinged features might have been taken from a painting of some noble Native American. Tall in a rangy fashion, he was as handsome as the devil incarnate and as careless of that fact as he was of nearly everything else that had a name.

Luke Benedict.

Luke-de-la-Nuit, some called him, or Nighttime Luke. Easily the most irritating man in the town of Turn-Coupeor in all of Tunica Parish for that matterhe had a positive genius for showing up when he wasnt wanted. Such as now.

April leaned her head against the thick oak of the old door and closed her eyes. This was too much. She had a phone nut on her hands and Martin, her ex-husband, was trying to worm his way back into her good graces. Her newest book had received a devastating review, and that had led to writers block over her work in progress. On top of all this, her white elephant of a house needed repair work. The absolute last thing she needed was to deal with Luke Benedict.

Lukes knuckles thudded on the opposite side of the wood directly above her head. April sighed and raked her fingers back through the golden brown length of her hair. Then she jerked the door open.

Are you all right? Luke demanded. I was listening to the interview on the Jeep radio when that creep came on.

Of course hed been listening, she thought with exasperation. It could have happened no other way. Im fine, she said with a dismissive gesture. You can go on about your business.

He ignored the suggestion as if she hadnt spoken. You know the guy? He sound familiar?

No to both questions. That was not the exact truth, but she wasnt about to give Luke anything he might use as a lever to pry into her affairs. Someone with a similar voice had called a week ago, waking her at three in the morning. At least she thought the voice was similar, though the caller had said little that time. Still, it was accepted wisdom that heavy breathers werent usually dangerous, wasnt it?