Point of Danger

by Irene Hannon

  Eve Reilly, with her sparkling eyes and sharp wit and innate intelligence, had him flummoxed. And there didn’t seem to be a thing he could do about it.

  As for what that meant for the future—who knew?

  For now, he was going to quash his misgivings, pay the lady a visit—and worry about tomorrow when the new day dawned.

  “Eve! I didn’t think you’d still be here.” Meg emerged from the showers in the locker room, running her fingers through her still-damp hair.

  Eve slid her phone into her gym bag. “I didn’t plan to be. I got caught up checking messages.”

  “I hear you—but I’m glad I have a chance to say thanks again for carving out an hour to introduce me to spinning.”

  “I’m happy the session worked with your schedule.” Eve slung her gym bag over her shoulder and appraised the other woman. “Don’t be surprised if you’re sore tomorrow.”

  “I followed your advice and paced myself—but I won’t mind a few sore muscles. It was invigorating to get real exercise.”

  Eve fished out her keys. “I hope the showers here weren’t too bad. It’s a challenge for the staff to keep up with the turnover. That’s why I always wait until I get home to clean up.”

  “They were fine. I have to grocery shop, and I didn’t want to run off the other customers.” She waved her hand in front of her face and laughed.

  Eve chuckled too—but it was doubtful that errand was Meg’s prime motive for showering at the fitness club. Despite the fact he carved out a bowling night for himself, from all the comments Meg had dropped about her husband, he didn’t approve of her having a life separate from him. It was possible she didn’t want any indications in the house that she’d met a friend for an unapproved activity—like evidence of an oddly timed shower.

  What a way to live.

  Meg deserved better.

  But until her high school acquaintance realized that for herself, the status quo would continue.

  Eve shifted her bag into a more comfortable position. All she could do was leave Meg with a standing invitation. “I have to shower too. ASAP. If you ever want to join me again for a session, let me know.”

  “Thanks, I will.” Meg picked up the small tote that held her shorts, T-shirt, and tennis shoes. “See you at the station on Friday.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  As Meg walked away, Eve’s ringtone gave a muffled rendition of her signature song from inside her bag.

  She pulled it out, read the name on the screen—and her heart missed a beat.

  Brent was calling her!

  Now she wouldn’t have to manufacture an excuse to call him.

  “Hi.” She put the phone to her ear and claimed a quiet corner of the locker room.

  He returned her greeting. “Am I interrupting anything?”

  “No. I finished a spinning class about ten minutes ago.”

  “Are you going home from there?”

  “That was the plan. Why?”

  “I have an update I’d like to share—in person.”

  “On the case?”

  “Yes.”

  She bit back the question that sprang to her lips. If she asked too much on the phone, he could end up relaying all his news—eliminating the need for a visit.

  Patience would be a virtue in this situation.

  “I could be there in fifteen minutes.”

  “Give me thirty. I have to wrap up a few loose ends at the office.”

  Perfect. She’d have a chance to jump in the shower once she got home.

  “That’s fine. I was going to pick up a salad at Panera. If you don’t already have dinner plans, I’d be happy to order food for you too.”

  Silence on the line.

  Well, shoot. She’d been too forward. Again.

  If this kept up, she was going to scare this man away before—

  “I don’t have any plans. Or I didn’t, until now. But let me get the food.”

  He wanted to buy their dinner? Like this was a sort of . . . date?

  Don’t get your hopes up, Eve. Assume he’s just being polite and wants to save you a stop.

  “That would be great, if you don’t mind. I’ll reimburse you later.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Consider this repayment for two pieces of fabulous carrot cake. What would you like me to order for you?”

  He didn’t want to be reimbursed.

  That could be a positive sign—but it would be safer to withhold judgment until he arrived and she appraised the situation up close and personal.

  Once she gave him her order and hung up, she zoomed home as fast as she could without incurring the wrath of any patrol officers eager to hand out speeding tickets.

  In twenty minutes flat, she was out of the shower and pacing the hall, waiting for him.

  By the time he rang the bell precisely half an hour after their phone conversation, she’d had ten minutes to get all hot and bothered.

  Sheesh.

  At this rate, she’d need another shower.

  Fluffing her hair, she took a deep breath . . . peered through the peephole to confirm the identity of her visitor . . . and opened the door.

  He gave her a swift head-to-toe—and the quick glint of appreciation in his eyes put her doubts to rest. Brent might be here on business, but he was glad to have an excuse to see her.

  Maybe she hadn’t scared him off after all.

  “Come on in.” She stepped back and waved him through the door. “As you can see, the living room floors have been stripped. That accounts for the dust motes floating through the air and coating every available surface. I’ve kept them under control in the kitchen—sort of. I’d suggest we move there as fast as possible.”

  “I’m right behind you.”

  She led him back, shaking her head at the surface of the table as they approached. “I wiped this down ten minutes ago. So much for the plastic shield in the doorway that was supposed to keep the dust in the living room. Give me a sec.” She retreated to the sink, retrieved a dishcloth, and dispensed with the new layer of fine powder.

  He claimed one of the chairs and set the bag on the table, along with their drinks. “Do you want to eat first or hear my news?”

  “News first—unless you ordered a hot item that will get cold.”

  “Nope. I got a sandwich.” He removed the lemonade she’d ordered from the tray and set it in front of her.

  “No coffee tonight?” She indicated the large, clear cup of amber liquid he put in his own place.

  “After spending several hours questioning a suspect in an apartment building with temperatures approaching sauna level, I was in the mood for iced tea. The plain version, not mango.”

  “I wish I could convince Grace to settle for that. It would be much less expensive.” She sat and pulled the paper off her straw. “Tell me you have good news.”

  “I consider it good.”

  Curious answer.

  “You mean I won’t?”

  “I’m not certain.” He stuck his straw through the opening in the lid and took a drink. “We were able to identify the person whose hair our CSU tech found beside your car.”

  “How can that be anything but good news?”

  “The person has an indirect connection to you.”

  She squinted. “You mean he’s more than a listener?”

  “He may not be a listener at all—but he’s married to someone who works on your program at the station. Steve Jackson.”

  Eve’s jaw dropped.

  Meg’s husband was the person who’d been plotting against her? Planting fake bombs, calling in during the program with exposés about her past, slashing her tires?

  “Are you certain?”

  “DNA databases are pretty accurate.”

  “Does he have a criminal background?” Somehow that wouldn’t surprise her.

  “Nothing serious, as far as I can tell. We made the connection through the military DNA database.”

  “So he’s a vet.”

&nbs
p; “Yes. What do you know about him?”

  “Very little.” She relayed the few pieces of information Meg had shared with her.

  “Have you met him?”

  “Yes. Twice.”

  “What did you think?”

  “I hate to pass judgment on someone I’ve only seen twice, at work-related gatherings.”

  “I hear you. But you seem to have excellent instincts. I’m after impressions, not facts.”

  She played with her straw. “We didn’t talk long. He was cool. Abrupt. I got the feeling he didn’t want to be at the events. He was also short with Meg, which I found offensive.” Eve explained the connection between her and the administrative assistant. “Those meetings, and a few comments from Meg, gave me the impression he’s selfish and thinks the world should revolve around him.”

  “Any idea why he’d target you?”

  “No. I mean, I don’t think he’s crazy about Meg working at the station, but I can’t believe anyone would go to such extremes for something like that.” She exhaled. “This is going to devastate Meg. I know you have a DNA match—but are you sure he’s the one who’s been doing all this?”

  “My gut says yes—but I can’t definitely prove it . . . yet. The hair is circumstantial evidence. However, it seems too much of a stretch that it would just happen to be beside your car on the night the tires were slashed. On the other hand, if he has an alibi for that evening, we’re sunk.”

  “Have you questioned him yet?”

  “No. I’ve been getting a court order to access his cell records and digging into his background first. I also wanted to get your read on him.”

  Eve rested her elbow on the table and propped her chin in her palm. “Much as I want this to be over, I hate for him to be your man—for Meg’s sake. And while I’m not discounting your instincts, I suspect he’ll have an alibi for Saturday night. Meg says they stick close on weekends. Plus, on the day the fake bomb was left, he was probably at work.”

  “We don’t know when the package was put on your porch. He could have slipped away from his job over his lunch hour.”

  “True—but it feels like a stretch. I can’t imagine anyone would take that kind of risk because he’s mad about his wife’s job.”

  “Depends how controlling he is. From what you’ve told me, he wants Meg at his beck and call. If your radio program folds—or you quit—the job goes away.”

  Eve grimaced. “That’s sick.”

  “We don’t always deal with rational people in my business. And some of the most irrational know how to present a normal face to the world.”

  “So what are you going to do?”

  “Keep digging into his background—and find out if he has alibis for the incidents in question.”

  “If he is the guilty party, Meg’s clueless. She’s as honest as they come.”

  His lips thinned into a taut line. “Love can make people behave in . . . surprising ways.”

  Was he thinking about his bad experience with Karen? The one he hadn’t shared over carrot cake and coffee?

  Perhaps . . . but this wasn’t the time to delve into that.

  “Well, bad as I feel for Meg if your evidence nails Steve, I’m glad this may be winding down for a bunch of reasons—including the health of my bank account. I got the Phoenix rate sheet and about had a heart attack. Forking out those big bucks would have been painful.”

  Twin grooves creased Brent’s brow. “We’re not home free yet. As long as the perpetrator is out there, so is the danger.”

  A shiver rolled through her. “Does that mean you think I should still hire Phoenix?”

  “I know it’s a big expense.” His frown deepened, and he rubbed the back of his neck. “If you can hunker down here for the next couple of days, I’ll arrange to have the patrol officer in the area do a few walk-arounds outside during each shift. I’ll also check with Sarge on available resources to keep Jackson under surveillance. I know you have the radio program on Friday, but I’d be happy to escort you to and from the station. By the weekend, this may be over.”

  Brent was willing to play bodyguard on his own time?

  Her spirits rose.

  “You do realize I leave the house at five-fifteen on program days.”

  “I assumed you got an early start. I can sleep in on Saturday.”

  “I don’t know . . .” She studied him. Was he simply being kind . . . or was there a deeper meaning behind his concern? And could she find out? “I appreciate the offer, but I don’t want to impose.”

  He captured her gaze. Held it. “Trust me. I’ll sleep better if I know you’re safe.”

  The intensity in his eyes sizzled through her, short-circuiting her lungs.

  Even if the left side of his brain didn’t want to have anything to do with romance, the right side was sending different signals to his heart.

  She’d wanted confirmation that his motivation was more than friendly concern—and boy, did she have it.

  Breathe, Eve.

  She forced her lungs to inflate and nodded. “Okay. I can hang around here until the next show. I’m giving a speech a week from Saturday, and I have to prep anyway.”

  “Good. And keep—” His voice rasped, and he cleared his throat. Tried again. “Keep tonight’s discussion under wraps until we know more about Jackson’s culpability.”

  “Got it.”

  After a moment, he looked away—with obvious difficulty. “Let’s eat.” He pulled out her salad and set it in front of her.

  She opened the disposable container and poured her dressing over the greens, shooting Brent a sidelong glance. The diligent attention he was giving his meal suggested he was either hungry or anxious to be on his way.

  And if it was the latter, that was fine—now that she had the answer to the question that had plagued her since Saturday night.

  She hadn’t scared him off. He might be running scared, but he wasn’t running away.

  That was the best news she’d had all day.

  Make that all week.

  Except for the fact that the case appeared to be almost solved.

  Maybe, if all went well, the danger would be gone by the weekend, as Brent had suggested.

  Besides, if Steve was the culprit, once he realized the police were on to him, he’d be crazy to do anything else to implicate himself.

  And with Brent and the police watching her back, she’d be safe until this wrapped up.

  There was no need for further worry.

  The danger was over.

  14

  YOUR GUY IS NO BOY SCOUT.” Colin swiveled around in his chair as Brent entered their office.

  Thank goodness his colleague had followed through on his promise to help with the case. Digging up Jackson’s background had been a slower slog than he’d expected.

  “What’ve you got?” Brent propped a hip on his desk.

  “Did you know he’d been married before?”

  That was a new piece of information.

  “No.” But since he’d been focusing on current events while Colin researched the man’s history, it wasn’t surprising his coworker had been the one to uncover that fact.

  “Uh-huh. In Texas. Four years ago. Six months later, his wife filed for divorce and took out a restraining order against him.”

  Brent let out a soft whistle and folded his arms. “I wonder if his current wife knows about that?” Not likely, if what Eve had said about Meg being a straight arrow was accurate. A woman with principles wouldn’t hook up with a guy like Steve if she knew his background.

  Then again, love could make people behave in uncharacteristic ways—as he’d told Eve.

  “His wife would have to answer that question.” Colin leaned back and crossed an ankle over a knee. “I have more. Before he lived in Texas, Jackson called Seattle home. There was a restraining order against him there too.”

  “Another wife?”

  “Not that I can see. Must have been a girlfriend. Both orders were for alleged abuse and stalki
ng.”

  “What a prince.”

  “More like a frog.”

  “Eve would agree with you on that.”

  “Eve?” Colin hitched up one side of his mouth. “We’re on a first-name basis, are we?”

  “I didn’t see any point in formalities.” Brent resisted the urge to tug at his collar. Why did the office suddenly feel stuffy?

  Colin rocked back in his chair, watching him. “She’s a very attractive woman. Single too.”

  His coworker was on to him—and denying the obvious would give him more ammunition.

  “I noticed.” He kept his tone casual.

  “Any eligible man would be crazy not to.”

  “You’re not eligible. What would your bride say about you ogling another woman?”

  “Trish has no worries. She’s the only woman for me and she knows it. Besides, I was appreciating, not ogling. Any guy would have to be blind not to recognize Eve Reilly’s attributes.”

  “She does have a fine mind and an engaging personality.”

  Colin grinned. “I’m sure she does—among other worthy qualities. You should investigate them all.”

  How had this conversation degenerated into a discussion about his personal life?

  He had to get them back on track.

  “Do you have anything else?”

  “On Ms. Reilly—or your suspect?” Humor lurked behind Colin’s question.

  “The latter.”

  “I talked with one of the detectives in Texas who had a couple of run-ins with your guy relating to the restraining order. His personal assessment was less than favorable.” He pulled out his cell, scanned the screen, and put it back in his pocket. “What did you find?”

  “The cell records were of marginal use. They did confirm he’s been in the area for the past two weeks, but the origination point of the calls during the times in question aren’t precise.”

  Colin snorted. “Tell me about it. All you get on those reports is a cell tower location—and switching centers can route even consecutive calls to different places. In a congested urban area like this, the best you can do is place a subject within a several-square-mile range.”

  “And triangulation with GPS only works during a live call—or if we ask the cell provider to ping a phone periodically to track movements. I’ve got surveillance on Jackson for a day or two, but I may have to resort to pinging after that if we don’t have a resolution.”