Point of Danger

by Irene Hannon

  “That’s the theory in a nutshell. Problem is, there’s no solid evidence yet to back it up.”

  “You mean he’s still on the loose?” Grace began to bristle.

  “Calm down. Brent says they’ll make sure he knows he’s being watched, and there isn’t much chance he’ll try anything else once he realizes he’s on their radar.”

  “Brent says that, huh?” Grace’s forehead smoothed out and one corner of her mouth twitched.

  It was all Eve could do not to roll her eyes.

  “Surveillance won’t last long—and it will be spotty. We don’t have the budget for that.” Cate frowned, tapping a finger on the arm of her chair.

  “We’re hoping this will be over soon.”

  “It won’t be unless more evidence surfaces.”

  “Aren’t you the optimist.” Eve made a face at Cate.

  “Realist.” There was no humor in her sister’s demeanor. “I don’t like this.”

  “Chill. I trust Brent. If he says I don’t have too much to worry about at the moment, I believe him.”

  “Let’s talk about Brent.” A glint of amusement sparked in Grace’s hazel irises.

  “Let’s not.” Eve went back to eating.

  “Why not?” This from Cate.

  “There’s nothing to talk about. He’s not in the market for a relationship.”

  “How do you know?” Grace leaned toward her.

  “He told me.”

  “Why did that subject come up?” Cate leaned in too.

  Eve stopped eating. “What is this, the third degree?”

  “We’re just asking a few questions.”

  “A rose by any other name . . .” Eve waved her spoon at them.

  Grace glanced at Cate. “If they were discussing such a personal subject, I’m betting he kissed her.”

  Eve almost choked on a piece of shrimp.

  “I told you.” Grace raised her arms in triumph, palms up.

  Eve guzzled water as Cate pinned her with a laser look.

  “For the record”—Eve paused again to cough—“he did not kiss me.”

  It had been the other way around—not a detail her sisters had to know.

  “I should hope not. That would be totally unprofessional.” Cate folded her arms, lips compressed into a thin line.

  “Well, poop.” Grace sank back in her chair. “You should spread some of that passion you generate for your professional life to a more personal . . . outlet.”

  “That could happen one of these days.” Maybe soon, if Brent got with the program.

  “You’re not getting any younger, you know.”

  Eve snorted. “Neither are you . . . or Cate.”

  Her older sibling held up her hands. “Hey . . . leave me out of this discussion. I have no time for romance.”

  “Who does?” Grace exhaled. “But don’t you both . . . I mean, once in a while when you’re alone at night . . . or you see a couple walking arm in arm in the park . . . or you hear a great tune and get in the mood to dance . . . don’t you ever wish the right guy would come along?”

  “I do.” Eve scraped the last of the gumbo from the bottom of the bowl. There was no harm admitting that—especially since she had a suspicion her right guy had already put in an appearance.

  “Not me. I’m happy with the status quo.” Cate slipped on her sunglasses, even though the golden orb had dropped below the tree line. “After work, I can go home, shut the door on the world, and leave my responsibilities on the other side. I don’t have to worry about anyone else.”

  “But there’s nobody to worry about you, either—except us and Dad.” Grace drained her iced tea. “I’m kind of tired of the solo act.”

  “So go find yourself a boyfriend.” Cate crushed her empty can in her fingers, the crinkle of the aluminum adding a discordant note to the measured evensong of the cicadas.

  “Easier said than done. I work with dead people, remember.”

  Cate snickered. “I can see where that could be a problem.”

  “Plus, guys tend to be freaked out by my profession.”

  “You could always date a mortician.”

  “Ha-ha.”

  “I bet the right guy for you is out there somewhere.” Eve touched her sister’s hand. “And you have us to keep you company tonight. How long are you staying?”

  “Only until morning. I have reports to write tomorrow, and Cate’s heading out of town for a few days.”

  Eve turned to her older sister. “Where are you going?”

  “My usual chill-out spot.”

  “Cuivre River State Park?”

  “Yep. A campsite above the lake has my name on it.”

  “Well . . . as long as we’re all together tonight, how about a game of Scrabble here on the deck? I’ll make popcorn later.”

  “The perfect antidote to a busy week. I’m in.” Grace moved her chair to the table.

  “Me too.” Cate scooted over too.

  Eve popped in the final bite of corn bread and stood. “I’ll be back as soon as I unearth the game from the guest room that’s crammed full of my living room furniture.”

  “Don’t hurry. It feels good to sit and veg.” Cate settled back in her chair.

  After picking up her empty bowl and brushing a few crumbs off the table, Eve retreated inside to scrounge up the game they’d enjoyed since they were old enough to spell. Sometimes the competition was cutthroat—but information had been shared, advice sought, and memories relived over the Scrabble board. Tonight would be no different.

  Except she wasn’t talking anymore about Brent, no matter how much her sisters probed—for two reasons.

  First, it might go nowhere, and second, the two of them had other priorities for the immediate future.

  Yet as she wiggled through the furniture in the guest room in search of the game, the threats that had dominated her life these past two weeks receded. After all, they had a credible suspect under surveillance, Brent was working the case hard, and everything had been quiet for several days.

  Conclusion? This disturbing chapter in her life was winding down.

  And now that her world was settling back onto its axis, what else could possibly happen to disrupt it—or resurrect the danger?

  18

  DOUG SHUT OFF THE ENGINE of his car but stayed behind the wheel as the garage door rumbled down behind him, snuffing out the Saturday afternoon sun.

  The potent scent of the lilies in the extravagant bouquet on the passenger seat swirled around him, churning his stomach.

  Maybe this was a mistake.

  What if she thought the gesture was silly? Or worse, suspicious. That he was bringing her flowers because he owed her an apology.

  Although in truth, he did. Wasn’t the romantic notion he’d dreamed up as he’d lain awake in bed last night prompted by guilt? Maybe the rift between them wasn’t entirely his fault, but a large portion of it was.

  And he didn’t want to lose her.

  Drawing in a deep breath, Doug picked up the bouquet, slid out from behind the wheel, and went in search of his wife.

  He found her in the laundry room, makeup free, hair uncombed, dressed in her oldest sweats as she pulled a load of clothes from the dryer and turned to dump it on the folding table.

  She jerked when she spotted him standing in the doorway, and a few of his T-shirts landed in a heap on the floor as one hand fluttered to her chest. “Doug! I thought you were going to be at the office most of the—” Her gaze flicked to the bouquet he was gripping . . . then moved back to his face, her expression morphing from startled to uncertain.

  “That was the original plan . . . but I got to thinking about—” He swallowed. Cleared his throat. Shifted his weight. “About us, and how much fun we used to have—and how I miss those early days. They seem like . . . they feel like another life sometimes.”

  She hugged the armful of laundry tighter to her chest, one of his handkerchiefs drifting to the floor to join the jumbled T-shirts. “To me too.”


  “So I was thinking . . . why not try to build in more time for us? Leave our responsibilities behind for a few hours every week and focus on all the things that brought us together in the first place.” His heart was thumping as hard as it used to during his high school track meets, his respiration just as choppy.

  Moisture filled her eyes, and she released an unsteady breath. “Why now?”

  Because he’d come too close to throwing away all the years he’d invested in building a life with this woman he’d vowed to love and honor as long as he lived. And that had scared him.

  But the impetus for his epiphany was irrelevant. What mattered was that it had happened. That he’d regained his senses before he made a mistake he’d have regretted until his dying day.

  So he searched for other words.

  “I don’t like how we’ve drifted apart—and I was afraid if that continued, we’d end up on opposite shores, with a huge gulf between us that couldn’t be bridged.” He exhaled. “I’d like to try and recapture a bit of our dating days, when we were young and carefree . . . and the center of each other’s world.”

  “I’d like that too.” She sighed, and her shoulders slumped. “But we’re different people now. Life moves on. Circumstances change.”

  “I know. And along the way, our love got buried under bills and aging parents and health issues and teenage angst and work pressures and deadlines and a thousand other distractions. I’d like to put it back on top of our priority list.”

  She regarded him for a long moment, still clutching the pile of clothes. “Can I ask you a question?”

  A nuance in her tone put him on alert, and he braced. “Yes.”

  “Did you have an affair?”

  His lungs locked. “What?”

  “It’s a simple question.”

  No, it wasn’t. There was nothing simple about it. But it did deserve a direct—and immediate—answer.

  “No! Why would you . . . what have I done to make you think that?” Other than his lunches with Carolyn, he’d never spent one-on-one time with another woman since the day he’d met Alison.

  She set the pile of clothes on the table, her throat working. “I don’t know. It’s just that you’ve grown . . . distant. When we are together, it’s so . . . mechanical. And all we ever talk about are schedules and chores and obligations. I thought you might have . . .” She tucked her hair behind her ear and picked a piece of lint off her shorts. “I mean, I know there are beautiful women out there, and I don’t have the figure I had twenty years ago . . .” Her voice caught.

  “Alison.” He closed the distance between them, set the flowers on the folding table beside the clothes, and took her hands. “You were—and are—a beautiful woman. But I didn’t marry you for your physical beauty. I married you for the beauty inside—and despite the curves and challenges life has thrown us, I’ve never stopped loving you.”

  She searched his face. “I love you too. I always have. But I didn’t know how to fix what was broken—or even how to bring it up.” She tucked the crown of her head into the curve of his neck and wrapped her arms around him, a familiar, tender posture he’d once savored but had too long taken for granted.

  While adrenaline and testosterone provided fleeting moments of excitement, nothing beat the contentment of quiet affection in a relationship built on trust and history.

  Thank God he’d realized that before he’d started down a path that would have destroyed what mattered most to him.

  “Well, let’s work on it together, okay?” He brushed his lips over her forehead and handed her the flowers. “Beginning with this—and dinner tonight at Tony’s. I reserved a table for seven.”

  Her eyebrows rose. “That could break the bank.”

  “We can afford a splurge on occasion. One of the outcomes of having a fair number of working years under your belt—along with a few extra pounds.” He patted his midsection.

  “You look perfect to me.” She smiled up at him, with all the sweetness he remembered from their long-ago dating days.

  “Thank you for seeing me through rose-colored glasses.” He leaned down and kissed her. A real kiss, not his usual token lip-brush that was more perfunctory than passionate. “Now why don’t you go do whatever you have to do to get ready for tonight while I fold the laundry? What else is on your to-do list this afternoon?”

  “Other than putting those flowers in water—nothing that can’t wait until tomorrow.” Her gaze locked onto his. “You know, I haven’t used our Jacuzzi in ages. It seems like a waste of water for one person.”

  His pulse picked up as he caught her drift. “I think you should indulge.”

  “I could be a while. Is there anything else we should . . . discuss?”

  “Let me consider that while I fold the laundry and take care of the flowers. I’ll come find you after I’m done.”

  “I’ll leave the door open.” Smiling, she nudged him with her hip and padded barefoot down the hall, throwing him a wink over her shoulder.

  A slow grin tugged up the corners of his mouth. Alison’s flirty behavior did far more to fuel his libido than Carolyn’s suggestive touches and innuendoes.

  Yet he’d come dangerously close to falling under the newswoman’s spell. Of succumbing to temptation.

  His lips flattened. If the situation with Eve hadn’t occurred, who knew how this would have ended?

  At least that was one positive outcome from all the trauma.

  Plus, he no longer had to worry about whether Carolyn was involved, as he’d feared. The detective had put that concern to rest yesterday with the news that a suspect was under investigation. She was aggressive and ambitious, but she wasn’t a criminal.

  She was also on her own going forward if she wanted to pursue a career as a radio show host.

  Doug dived into the laundry, folding at warp speed.

  Come Monday, he’d send her one final text—for closure, so there was no misunderstanding about his position.

  And now that he was confident she’d had nothing to do with Eve’s problems, he could end that chapter in his life with no lingering doubts or regrets.

  “Come on, Meg . . . if you felt well enough to go to church, you ought to be able to handle a little cuddling.”

  As Steve gave her an engaging grin, Meg dropped her purse on the kitchen table. She’d managed to keep him at arm’s length since Friday night, but she couldn’t feign sickness forever.

  Yet reconciling the information Detective Lange had offered with everything she’d believed about Steve was proving difficult.

  Who was she supposed to trust?

  She bit her lip and studied the man across from her.

  If the police had sufficient evidence to charge him, he wouldn’t be in their kitchen this morning. He’d be in jail. Or out on bail. And he had been sweet to her yesterday—in his own way. Yes, he’d kept his distance to avoid any stench of vomit, but he’d bought her a carryout dinner. High-carb, of course—but it was the thought that counted, right?

  Still . . . she wasn’t ready to cuddle—or go where that would lead. If he’d targeted Eve or fooled around with Candy, that was a game changer. So until she knew for sure, she had to keep her distance, no matter how hard he pushed.

  “I’m not up to it, Steve. Going to church wore me out.”

  His good humor faded. “So you have time and energy for God, but not your husband.”

  Guilt pressed in on her, but she pushed it aside. For once in her life, she had to stay strong. If she’d been wrong about Steve . . . if he’d used her . . . sticking her head in the sand was stupid. “Give me another day or two.”

  His eye twitched, and a muscle clenched in his jaw. “Fine.” He shoved his hand into his pocket and pulled out his keys.

  “Where are you going?”

  “What do you care?” He brushed past her none too gently as he stomped toward the door.

  “I care.”

  “Yeah.” He paused on the threshold. “How much?”


  “What does that mean?”

  His lip curled. “Do you care enough to cuddle for a while?”

  She fought back a wave of nausea—this one for real. He was measuring her love by whether she’d bend to his will. Do something she was less in the mood than ever to do. Let him control her.

  Was that all their relationship was to him? A power play?

  “Well?” He glared at her.

  She could feel the color draining from her face.

  He frowned. “Are you going to puke again?”

  “Maybe.” She groped for the back of a chair to steady herself.

  Disgust contorted his features. “I’m out of here.”

  With that, he swiveled away and pushed through the door, slamming it behind him. Less than thirty seconds later, the garage door rumbled up . . . then down.

  He was gone.

  Legs quivering, Meg sank into the chair and dropped her head in her hands.

  Now what?

  If she walked out on him and he was innocent, her marriage would be over—along with the life she’d dreamed of.

  But it’s been more dream than reality anyway, Meg. You have to accept that. Admit you made a mistake.

  A sob caught in her throat, and her vision misted. That was the harsh truth, and she couldn’t ignore it any longer. Even without the recent developments, Steve hadn’t been the Prince Charming she’d imagined him to be during their courtship.

  Far from it.

  Her husband was selfish and domineering and manipulative, with a mean streak a mile wide that he hid beneath a veneer of charm when it served his purposes.

  No wonder his first wife had divorced him.

  Yet how did you reconcile divorce with a till-death-do-us-part vow?

  Meg lifted her head and pushed her hair back, staring at the dark clouds gathering outside the kitchen window.

  If the detective was wrong about his allegations, might Steve be willing to work on their relationship? Get counseling, perhaps?

  That’s a pipe dream, Meg. He’s not the type to admit he has issues.

  The same persistent voice that had warned her eighteen months ago to proceed with caution in this marriage once again offered a prophet-of-doom pronouncement.