by Irene Hannon
“Do you think your lab will find anything on that?”
“I’m not counting on it. TV crime shows get a ton of law enforcement details wrong, but they have helped bad guys learn how to avoid detection.”
“Then this person could walk.”
“That’s a possibility—but we’ll work this until there’s nothing left to work.”
She scrubbed at her temple, and the stretchy band on her hair finally lost its grip.
He snatched the elastic circle as it fell and dropped it on the island.
“Impressive reflexes.” She flashed him a smile and tucked her side-parted, shoulder-length hair behind her ear. “So . . . what about the threat inside the package? Do you think this person will follow through?”
She was trying to present a calm front, but the rapid pulse beating in the hollow of her throat sabotaged the effort.
Much as he hated to scare her, sugarcoating the truth could put her at further risk. Forewarned really was forearmed.
“Do you mind if I sit?” He indicated the stool next to hers.
A flush washed over her cheeks. “Please—and I apologize for my bad manners. Would you like a glass of water or a soft drink?”
“No thanks—and no apology necessary. You have more important things to think about.” He settled on the stool and angled toward her.
“And worry about?” She picked up the elastic band and scrutinized him.
“Maybe. We should assume that anyone who would risk a prison sentence to put that package on your porch isn’t playing games. The message inside would suggest the culprit is a disgruntled listener.” He linked his fingers on the cool granite. “How much of the negative feedback you get is general—like this—versus focused on your position on a particular topic?”
“Doug and Meg at the station would be the ones to ask about that, but my sense is that most listeners who call and write want to talk about a specific issue. As I told you earlier, we hear from a few regulars, but they’re in the minority.”
“Do you know who they are?”
“Only first names.”
“We may want to get a court order for a phone trap on the calls coming in to your program.”
“Doug will be happy to cooperate—but I think that’s a dead end. My regulars are mouthy, but they seem like ordinary people who are taking advantage of the opportunity to vent.”
Brent rested an elbow on the island. “Yet the message suggests it’s from a listener.”
“Suggests.” She gave him a keen look. “You’ve used that word twice. Are you thinking that could be a red herring?”
The fear she was struggling to control hadn’t short-circuited her brain.
“It’s possible. Do you have any enemies in your private life?”
“No. I stay off the grid and do projects like this.” She waved a hand around the kitchen. “I also exercise, and I volunteer with a couple of organizations. I’m not at odds with anyone in my private circle.”
“No serious ex-boyfriend who may not be happy about a breakup?”
She played with the stretchy band, watching him. “I thought you did a background check.”
“I didn’t go that deep.”
“I’ll save you the trouble. I have one serious ex. We went out for eighteen months but parted amicably two years ago—a breakup he initiated. He was a lawyer with his eye on a political career and was concerned the controversy I attract could derail those ambitions. So no issue there.”
Her ex had dumped her because he couldn’t take the heat generated by her profession? Had put his goal of an elected office above a personal relationship?
What a loser.
And definitely not worthy of the woman sitting across from him.
He and Eve Reilly may have met less than three hours ago, but it didn’t take long to recognize character. She was the real deal—strong, intelligent, principled, courageous, caring . . . not to mention beautiful.
Too bad he wasn’t in the market for a relationship.
But even if he was, dating someone who was part of an investigation was a no-no.
He hooked one foot on the rung of the stool. “So we can write him off.” In more ways than one.
“I’d say that’s a safe bet. I haven’t seen or spoken to him since the day we broke up. I did hear through the grapevine that he’s dating someone else. So I doubt I’m on his radar anymore.”
“You’re certain you have no other personal enemies?”
“Yes. This has to be related to my job.” She twined her fingers together in her lap. “You said a few minutes ago that the person who did this isn’t playing games. Does that mean you think this will escalate if I don’t shut up, like the message told me to do?”
“It could. I’d treat this as an active threat.”
“Meaning?”
“Use caution and common sense. Pay attention to your surroundings while you’re out and about. Stay away from dark alleys. Don’t wander around by yourself at night. Do you by chance have a concealed carry permit?”
She swallowed. “No. While I fully support the constitutional right to bear arms, guns make me nervous. Even if I had one, I don’t know that I could ever pull the trigger.”
“You might be surprised what you could do in the face of an imminent threat.”
She tipped her head, scrutinizing him. “Is that experience talking?”
Yeah, it was.
But he wasn’t discussing that subject today.
“Let’s just say I’ve been in a few dicey situations during my law enforcement career.”
“That’s the same kind of vague answer Cate gives me whenever I ask questions about her experiences on the street. But no worries. I respect people’s privacy. We all have subjects that are off limits. Any other advice?”
“Would your station spring for personal protection while we try to sort this out?”
Her eyes widened. “You mean like . . . a bodyguard?”
“Yes.”
“Isn’t that overkill?”
“I don’t know—and I don’t like unknowns. It’s always better to be safe than sorry.”
“Well, a bodyguard’s not going to happen. The station doesn’t have a budget for anything like that. I have a decent audience, and ad revenues have been rising as my reach expands with more and more syndication deals, but protection would have to be on my dime. And that would be a big price to pay for a little peace of mind.”
He couldn’t argue with that—and her answer didn’t surprise him. Few people had the financial resources to fund personal security.
Truth be told, with most victims of a hoax like this, he wouldn’t have broached the subject. It was possible this was a one-off. Someone had decided to take a big chance to make a point—and was hoping the impact was sufficient to shut Eve down. If the attempt failed, they might chalk it up to a nice try and be glad they got away with it once.
Yet he couldn’t shake the feeling there was more to this. That someone had Eve in their sights—and wasn’t about to be deterred by one failure.
But given her pallor, the notion of a bodyguard had only added to her stress—and beyond a gut feeling, he had nothing to justify pushing the idea.
Backpedal, Lange. Tone down the warning and reassure her. She won’t sleep a wink tonight if you leave her like this.
Standing, he kept his expression neutral. “In that case, go with the watch-your-back plan. In the meantime, I’ll put pressure on the lab to get to the package ASAP. I’ll also call Doug Whitney about reviewing the recent negative communication you’ve received and get the paperwork started for a phone trap on the calls coming in to your program’s 800 number.”
She slid off her stool too and twisted her wrist to see her watch. “Long day for you. You missed dinner.”
“I never expected regular hours in this job. I’ll hit a drive-through on the way home.”
Her gaze flicked to his left hand.
The lady was doing a ring check.
�
�Um . . . I don’t have a bunch of food in the house, but I’d be happy to make an omelet or throw together a quick stir-fry if you’d like to forego the fast food. I feel like it’s the least I can do after ruining your Friday night.”
Dinner with Eve Reilly.
Tempting.
Very tempting.
But mixing business and pleasure wasn’t smart.
And an evening with Eve would be all pleasure.
“Thank you for the offer, but I should be going.”
“Of course.” She gave him a smile that was a tinge too bright. “I’m sure you have places to go and people to see.”
In other words, she thought he had a date.
A misconception he didn’t intend to let stand, even if he wasn’t looking for a new relationship.
He’d figure out why later.
“Not tonight—but I have a full day tomorrow, and there are a few things I have to take care of before then. As for my evening—you didn’t ruin it. If I hadn’t been working, I would have gone for a run . . . and given how hot it is, you may have saved me from a case of heatstroke.”
“I’m glad something positive came out of this day.” Unless he was mistaken, a hint of relief softened her features at the news his evening plans didn’t include a hot date.
His spirits took an uptick—for reasons he refused to analyze.
He followed her to the foyer, waiting as she flipped the lock and twisted the handle. “I noticed your security system keypad by the back door. I assume you use it.”
“Yes. Having a sister in law enforcement means I get frequent lectures on home safety. I’d have one anyway, given what I do for a living.”
“Smart.” He continued past her to the small front porch. “I’ll keep you informed about our progress.” He motioned behind her, toward the paint cans. “Good luck with your weekend project.”
“Thanks. As soon as I eat, I’m going to dive in.”
“Don’t work too hard.”
Her mouth bowed. “I was born with a hard-work mindset. What can I say? Thanks again for everything.”
“My pleasure.”
He followed the paved path to the sidewalk in the quiet neighborhood, where the residents were once again going about their normal routines.
People were walking dogs.
Children were riding bikes.
The hum of lawnmowers, a distant train whistle, and the jingle of an ice cream truck mingled in the evening air.
For Eve’s neighbors, life had returned to normal.
But hers wouldn’t be the same again for quite a while.
He circled his car to the driver’s side, glancing back at her house.
A light was on in the living room, peeking around the edges of the closed shades, and a shadow moved past the window as he slid behind the wheel.
Eve might be up late painting tonight, but a propensity for hard work would be only one of the reasons.
She’d also be thinking about what happened today—and wondering if there was more to come.
As he pulled away from the curb, he could relate.
Because that’s exactly what he’d be doing too . . . well into the night.
“Hey, Buzz . . . weren’t you working in that neighborhood today?”
Buzz Lander shifted his attention from the TV above the bar to Suds, who was guzzling beer like there was no tomorrow.
“We both were.” On his other side, Crip swigged his own beer and continued to watch the coverage of the bomb scare on the cul-de-sac a few blocks from their painting job. “You shoulda heard all the sirens.” He grabbed another handful of popcorn and shoved it in his mouth.
Buzz hid his disgust behind the rim of his mug.
Both of these guys were morons who didn’t have a clue about what really mattered. All they cared about was making enough money to keep the fridge full of beer and brats. Neither of them ever gave a thought to the future.
But the three of them had a history . . . and the job they’d gotten him with the painting company after he came back from California was an easy gig that gave him time to do other things.
More important things.
And it didn’t hurt to hang out with these two on Friday nights once in a while. It was what most guys their age did. Even if he had to put up with the asinine high school nicknames they refused to leave in the past.
“Who’d have guessed Eve Reilly would end up looking like that.” Suds swigged his beer and shook his head. “All I remember from high school is her frizzy hair.”
“Nah—you’re thinking of her sister Grace.” Crip kept chowing down on the popcorn. “She was a year behind us. Eve was a year ahead of us. Isn’t that right, Buzz?”
“Yeah. I think.”
To tell the truth, he didn’t remember either sister all that well from high school. Best as he could recall, they were both A students who took all the advanced courses. They’d never shared a classroom with him—or any of his group. He’d seen them in the cafeteria or study hall once a week, max.
But he knew all about Eve now.
“So what do you think about that?” Crip waved salt-encrusted fingers toward the screen, where a photo of her was displayed in the bottom corner while the reporter talked to a cop in the center. “Why would someone pull a stunt like that over a stupid radio show?”
Because it wasn’t stupid.
It was dangerous.
“Yeah. I mean, if they catch that guy, he could go to prison.” Suds waved at the bartender and held up his empty mug. “He took a big chance.”
“Maybe he thought it was worth it.” Buzz sipped his beer, nursing the drink. No way did he want to risk getting a DUI. That could ruin a person’s life.
“I don’t see how pulling a prank like that would be worth it. What did it accomplish?” Crip scraped the last of the popcorn from the bowl.
“He may have left a message.” Buzz watched the screen as the camera zoomed in on Eve, sitting on a bench behind the yellow tape, talking to a tall guy in a jacket.
“What kind of message?” Crip stared at him.
“I don’t know. Could be someone doesn’t agree with her politics.”
Suds snorted. “I don’t agree with a lot of people’s politics. That doesn’t mean I go around putting bombs on their porch.”
“Fake bombs,” Crip said.
“Whatever.” Suds waved a hand. “It’s still dumb. People are entitled to their opinions. This is a free country with free speech. If someone doesn’t like what she says, they can get their own radio show.”
Crip chortled. “I can just see you on the radio. You don’t know current events from the Current River.”
“Hey—people could be interested in the river. I know fishing inside out. And that wouldn’t get me bombs on my doorstep, either. I’m sick of politics anyway.” He scanned the screen again. “Why a chick with her assets wants to waste time on all those heavy topics is beyond me. She ought to do a show on a froufrou subject, like cooking or makeup or interior decorating. Don’t you think so, Buzz?”
“Yeah.”
Double yeah.
And it was possible she’d switch gears, after this scare.
“How come you’re so quiet tonight?” Crip nudged him.
“Long day.”
“I hear you. Any big weekend plans? Hot dates?”
“Nope.”
Crip sighed. “Me either. But I bet Eve’s got guys falling over themselves to take her out.” He motioned toward the screen with his mug. “What a looker. She sure didn’t deserve what happened today.”
Buzz bit back the retort that sprang to the tip of his tongue. Disagreeing with his buddies would only raise questions.
But the truth was, she deserved everything she’d gotten—and more.
He took another sip of beer while Crip and Suds continued the conversation.
And maybe she’d get it.
Maybe there’d be an Act II to today’s performance.
It was certainly worth thinking abou
t.
How ironic that she’d been the one sent to cover the Eve Reilly drama for tomorrow’s paper.
Carolyn Matthews stepped out of her shoes and picked up the TV remote. Late as she’d worked on her article, there wasn’t much chance she’d catch any of the TV coverage—but with a breaking story like this, there could be an update at the end of the late-night news.
She tuned out the sports and wandered into the kitchen. A glass of wine would be an excellent end to the evening. Her story was finished and turned in—and Eve Reilly had to be running scared.
Carolyn smiled and pulled a bottle of chardonnay out of the refrigerator. Uncorked it and poured a generous glass. Took a sip.
Perfect.
The announcer’s voice drifted into the kitchen from the living room, and she tuned in as he returned to the lead story.
“At this hour, the police say they don’t yet have any suspects in custody for the fake bomb that was planted on radio personality Eve Reilly’s porch late this afternoon. They’re continuing to work the case, and they’ve asked anyone who may have information about the perpetrator to call the tip line.” He gave the number as it flashed on the screen.
So there was nothing new. No leads.
Nor would there be, if fate was kind.
Carolyn took another slow sip of wine, letting the taste linger on her tongue as she shut off the TV.
Whether the incident would spook Eve enough to make her rethink the risk of hosting a controversial radio show remained to be seen.
But she had to be scared. You’d be stupid not to be.
And Eve Reilly wasn’t stupid.
Carolyn’s lips curved up.
Whatever the outcome of today’s little caper, she and Doug would have much to talk about at their lunch on Monday.
Al
Fri., Aug. 24, 10:50 p.m.
Have u seen the news?
Dan
Fri., Aug. 24, 10:56 p.m.
Yes. I was going 2 contact u. The window is open.
Al
Fri., Aug. 24, 10:56 p.m.
Agreed.
Dan
Fri., Aug. 24, 10:57 p.m.
This will take careful coordination. Are u in?