9

THE TALK HAD GONE WELL —even if far too many of the questions from the audience had been related to the furor in her life during the past week rather than the topic of tonight’s program

Hopefully morbid curiosity about her personal tribulations wasn’t responsible for the large turnout. That would be an ego buster, and after all—

“Wonderful job, Eve.”

She swiveled as a female voice spoke behind her. The school principal was approaching, several members of the audience in her wake.

“Thank you.”

“We so appreciate you giving up your Saturday night to join us.”

“It was my pleasure. And it’s a special treat to speak to parents and teachers of young teens. That’s the perfect age to lay a solid grounding in the principles that define America.”

“I couldn’t agree more. As you pointed out in your speech, few young people understand how our government works—or why it was structured as a constitutional republic. We have to do a better job teaching civics in our schools.”

“Hear, hear.” An older gentleman spoke up behind the woman.

The principal smiled. “A number of people had questions they didn’t get a chance to ask during the Q&A. Can you spare a few minutes to chat with them?”

Eve stifled a sigh. It was almost nine o’clock . . . she’d been up since six . . . yesterday’s fast and furious show had exhausted her . . . and stripping floors all day had taken a physical toll.

But she owed every gig her best effort. It was always possible a simple conversation could be the catalyst that encouraged someone to take a deeper interest in defending the country’s founding principles.

“Of course.”

Thirty minutes and more than a few questions later, as she finished the impromptu Q&A and collected her purse and notes, the principal rejoined her.

“Sorry to keep you this late. If it’s any consolation, you should be flattered by all the questions. Only on rare occasions does anyone hang around after our evening PTA programs.”

“Then I’ll definitely take this as a compliment.” She scanned the empty middle-school theater. “Looks like we’ve closed down the place.”

“We have. I’ll be around for a few more minutes, turning off lights, locking doors, and ducking into my office to pick up a stack of reports I have to read tomorrow. You’re welcome to hang around if you’d like to walk out to the parking lot together.”

Wait another ten or fifteen minutes when she was dead on her feet?

No way.

This was a safe area of town, the parking lot had plenty of lights, and her car wasn’t far from the entrance.

Besides, while she didn’t have a Beretta stashed in her purse, as Grace did, she had her trusty pepper gel.

“Thanks, but I’m ready to call it a night. May I leave through the lobby?”

“Yes. The door will lock behind you.” The woman extended her hand. “Thank you again—and let me add my voice to the personal support expressed tonight by many of our members.”

“I appreciate that.” She returned the principal’s firm squeeze. “Enjoy your weekend.”

“You too.”

Eve trekked toward the lobby, digging through her purse for the small canister of gel. As she pushed through the door, she pulled it out and paused to peruse the area.

Two cars remained in the parking lot. No one was in sight, and the expanse of asphalt was well lit. This was also a low-crime, upper-middle-class section of town populated by professionals.

If she wasn’t spooked by the incidents of the past week, she wouldn’t even have bothered to dig through her bag for the gel.

Not that she’d ever share that with Cate. After her detective sister’s reminders to always expect the worst—and be prepared to deal with it—she’d be appalled by that admission.

But living in fear was the pits.

Given present circumstances, however, an extra dose of caution was prudent.

Tightening her grip on the container, she crossed the lot toward her Camry, one finger on her autolock button, the other poised on the flip top of the gel.

Ten feet from her car, she unlocked her door. In a handful of seconds she’d be safely inside her vehicle.

Picking up her pace, she gave the lot another sweep.

All clear.

At the door of her car, she glanced into the backseat—another rule Cate had pounded into her sisters’ heads. One she always followed.

No one was hiding inside, waiting to pounce.

Without lingering, she slid behind the wheel . . . locked the doors . . . and exhaled.

She was safe.

All that worry, all those precautions, had been for nothing.

No complaints, though. It was smarter to overprepare for trouble than be caught—

Eve froze.

Stopped breathing.

The folded sheet of paper on her dashboard hadn’t been there when she’d left her car almost three hours ago.

Slowly she reached for it. Lifted the top edge of the thin sheet. Read the typed words.

Final warning. Shut up or die.

A nife can stab more than tires.

Sweet mercy. Would this never end?

Heart pounding, she read the note again.

Frowned.

What was that about her tires? They were fine—at least the ones on the driver’s side that were visible from the auditorium.

But the car did seem to be listing slightly.

Were the other two flat?

Should she get out to check?

No. Not with this note in her hands. Whoever had gotten into her car and perhaps slashed her tires could be hiding nearby. They might not know how to spell knife, but they could very well know how to use one.

A call to 911 would be appropriate, but a police officer she didn’t know would show up . . . and talking to a stranger—however nice he or she was—held zero appeal.

She wanted a familiar face here. Someone whose very presence was reassuring and inspired confidence.

And she knew just the face she wanted to see.

The patrol officer had stayed in his car, as requested—close to Eve’s Camry, to assure her help was at hand if needed—but he hadn’t approached her.

Good man.

Brent parked beside the cruiser, and the officer slid out of the vehicle.

Myers.

Perfect.

After two decades on the job, the man had street smarts and excellent people skills. Taking the initial report was his responsibility, but he’d cooperate to mitigate the stress of this latest incident as much as possible for Eve.

“Lange.” The man held out his hand as he approached.

“Glad you were the responding officer.” Brent returned his firm shake.

“You got a hot one right out of the gate with this case.”

“No kidding. You want to tag team tonight’s incident?”

“Sure. You can take the lead if you want. You know the drill—and what I need for the report.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem. Shall we?” He indicated Eve’s car.

Brent continued toward the Camry as Eve slid out from behind the wheel. She had on more makeup than usual, but it couldn’t disguise her slight pallor or the taut line of her mouth.

“Thanks for coming.” She addressed the comment to him, giving his jeans and T-shirt a quick perusal before shifting her gaze to include Myers.

Brent indicated the uniformed man. “This is Officer Myers.” He turned back to her. “Have you gotten out of the car since you called me?”

“No.”

“Have you seen anyone?”

“Only the principal. Officer Myers spoke to her as she was leaving.”

“Give us a minute to walk around the car.”

He and Myers circled to the other side.

Considering the slight tilt of the vehicle, he wasn’t surprised to discover two flat tires.

While Myers dropped to the balls of his feet and inspected the back tire, he did likewise in the front.

The man joined him less than thirty seconds later. “Half a dozen punctures in the sidewall.”

“Same here.” He rose.

“Nasty prank.”

Too bad that wasn’t all it was.

“There’s a note too.” He rejoined Eve, who was leaning against the car, arms tightly crossed. “They’re flat.”

“I assumed they would be.”

“Would you like to sit while we talk?” He motioned toward the driver’s seat.

“I’d rather stand.”

He gave the area another slow scrutiny. Everything appeared to be calm—and it was unlikely the perpetrator was lingering, now that law enforcement was on the scene. Today’s mission had been accomplished. Why hang around and risk being spotted?

“That’s fine. Walk us through what happened this evening.”

Myers took notes as Eve told her story. Brent asked the necessary follow-up questions, but her account was thorough—and she provided her contact information to the officer without being prompted.

“You know the routine.” Myers flashed her a quick smile.

“I’ve had recent experience—sad to say.” Her lips rose a hair, then flattened again. “Any idea how someone got into my locked car without doing any damage—other than to my tires?”

“All it takes is a wedge for the top of the door and a long rod.” Myers continued to jot in his notebook. “Power locks give a false sense of security. And jamming devices that prevent the car from locking even though you hear the familiar click are all over the open market. Car alarms can help—but those aren’t infallible either.”

“That’s not the most comforting news I’ve heard today.” She motioned to the sheet of paper on the passenger seat. “There’s the note. Obviously I already touched it.”

“No worries.” Brent pulled a pair of latex gloves out of the back pocket of his jeans. “We have your elimination prints on file from the fake bomb incident. But I doubt we’ll find anyone else’s on this. As I’ve mentioned, these”—he held up the gloves—“are a criminal staple these days—just like they are for law enforcement. Give me a minute to grab an evidence envelope from my car.”

Myers continued to scribble in his notebook while Brent retrieved the envelope, placed a call to the Crime Scene Unit, and tugged on his gloves.

Eve moved aside as he reached across the driver’s seat and picked up the single sheet of paper. Read it. Showed it to Myers before sliding it into the bag. “You have any other questions?”

“No.” The man stowed his notebook.

“CSU will be here soon. Can you wait around until they show up?”

“Sure.” Myers angled toward Eve. “Don’t hesitate to call us if there are any new developments, ma’am—but you’re in capable hands with Detective Lange. My report from tonight will be available by tomorrow if you want a copy for insurance purposes.”

“Thank you—and thanks for responding so fast.”

He nodded in acknowledgment and returned to his cruiser.

Brent filled out the envelope, ending with the chain of custody section, then refocused on Eve. “Do you want the car towed, or would you prefer to have someone replace the tires here?”

“What do you recommend on a Saturday night at this hour?”

“I’d have it done here—but that would have to wait until tomorrow. I can ask Patrol to have an officer swing by overnight and keep an eye on your vehicle if you want to consider that option. I’ll also give you the names of a few reputable outfits that can take care of this—and I’d be happy to run you home.”

She rubbed at the twin grooves above her nose. “I’ve disrupted your evening too much already. I should let you get back to whatever you were doing.”

“The book I was reading can wait.” He might not admit to his colleagues that he spent his Saturday nights on such a low-key pursuit—but Eve would appreciate his choice of leisure activity.

And maybe even be glad he wasn’t out barhopping . . . or on a hot date.

“You were reading?” She stared at him.

He hitched up one side of his mouth. “Yeah. I learned how in first grade.”

Soft color stole across her cheeks. “Whoops. That didn’t come out right. I didn’t mean to insult you. But in my defense, I haven’t met many men who spend their Saturday nights reading.”

“Their loss—and no offense taken.”

“Thanks. What are you reading?”

“I’m alternating between a novel and a nonfiction book.”

When he mentioned the titles—one about the relationship between John Adams and Thomas Jefferson, the other a bestselling thriller—she arched an eyebrow. “Quite a contrast.”

“My reading taste is eclectic.”

“I can see that. I enjoyed the Jefferson/Adams book.”

“That doesn’t surprise me, now that I’m becoming acquainted with your interest in the workings of our government. Do you also read fiction?”

“Yes. At the moment I’m immersed in a heartwarming series set in a charming seaside community in Oregon. With all the turmoil in my life, it’s soothing to visit a place where everyone cares about everyone else.” She let a beat pass. “If you’re certain you don’t mind giving me a ride, I’ll go with the change-the-tires-here option and take you up on your offer.”

His spirits lifted. For once his Saturday evening wouldn’t end in a solitary pursuit.

“The offer stands.”

“Should I lock my car? As if that will keep it—or me—safe.”

“No. The CSU tech will do that after he or she is finished. And locking your car is a deterrent in most cases—but for the immediate future, check your door afterward to be sure it’s not still open, in case someone happens to be using a jamming device.”

“For those to work, that someone would have to be nearby, watching for you to get out and lock your car—right?”

“Yes.”

“So if whoever left the note used one, he’s been tracking my schedule and knew about my speaking engagement.”

“That would be a reasonable assumption. You ready to go?”

“I have one more question first.” She swallowed. “The note said this was a final warning. That next time I’m not going to walk away. Do you think this is another scare tactic—or a serious threat this person intends to follow through on?”

He knew what she wanted to hear—but he couldn’t give her that assurance. Not when his gut was signaling a red alert. Telling him the situation was ratcheting up.

And he trusted his gut. Only on rare occasion had it let him down—or led him astray.

“I think increased caution is in order.” He tried for a measured tone, despite the apprehension prickling in his nerve endings. He wanted her attentive, but not panicked. People who freaked out lost their ability to think clearly—and made mistakes.

Sometimes fatal ones.

“As in I should bite the bullet and shell out the money for personal security?”

“If you can swing it, that wouldn’t be a bad investment at this point. Your home security system is first class, so you’d only need a bodyguard part-time, while you’re out and about. And I hope not for long.”

She expelled a breath. “Okay. I’ll give it serious thought. Can you recommend anyone?”

“Not officially.”

“How about unofficially?”

“A former County detective opened a PI/security firm a number of years ago called Phoenix Inc. It’s top-notch. All of the PIs have law enforcement backgrounds—police detectives, Secret Service agent, undercover ATF operative. If I ever wanted protection, that’s where I’d go.”

“Sold. I’ll give them a call and get pricing information.”

“Be ready for sticker shock. That kind of expertise doesn’t come cheap.”

“Thanks for the warning.”

“Shall we?” He motioned toward his car.

“Yes. I’m ready to go home.”

But he wasn’t.

And as they walked to his vehicle . . . as he held the door for her and she slipped inside . . . a powerful temptation to extend the evening swept over him—despite the warning flashing in his brain.

The smart choice was clear. If he didn’t want to get involved with this woman, he should walk her to her door—and walk away.

Fast.

Except he didn’t feel smart tonight.

He felt lonely.

And loneliness was a potent motivator.

Maybe by the time he pulled into her cul-de-sac he’d find the strength to make a quick exit.

But he wasn’t betting on it.