13
THE EVE REILLY STORY had dried up.
Buzz skimmed the Wednesday Post headlines again, flipping through the pages.
Nothing.
There hadn’t been a single mention of it in the paper—or on the news—since the phone call to the station a week ago . . . and that had only merited a one-paragraph follow-up. Apparently she’d weathered the storms of the past ten days and was staying the course.
Some people had a knack for escaping danger unscathed.
For a while, anyway.
But if blows continued to rain down on them, eventually one would hit its target and their luck would run out.
“Aren’t we the cerebral one.”
At the taunt from Suds, he closed the paper and tucked it between the insulated food carrier and the tree supporting his back. “I decided to improve my mind as well as feed my stomach during lunch break.”
Suds snorted and waved toward the paper. “There’s nothing but bad news in there. I get enough of that in real life. Give me Candy Crush any day.” He lifted his cell.
“Video games will turn your brain to mush.”
“Me and the hundred million other people who play it.”
No wonder the world was in such a mess. Didn’t anyone worry about important issues anymore? Like politicians controlling people’s lives. The oppression of capitalism. The evil inherent in authority.
Not to mention the people who promoted a society where big government, getting rich, and institutions of authority were not only accepted but encouraged.
People like Eve Reilly.
He swallowed past his distaste.
Unthinking morons like Suds and Crip were slaves and they didn’t even know it—because they’d rather play Candy Crush than fight for their rights . . . and their freedom.
Idiots like them got what they deserved.
But he wasn’t an idiot—and the status quo wasn’t acceptable. That’s why—
“Hey.” Suds stared at him. “What’s with you? You’ve got a weird look on your face.”
He clenched his fist but relaxed his features. “I’m thinking about the screen porch we’re going to tackle this afternoon. It’s going to be a bear to paint, with all that lattice.”
Suds watched him for a few moments, then shrugged. “At least it’s not a hundred degrees in the shade anymore. Crip lucked out pulling that pool house job in Ladue, though. His gig is air-conditioned—and the owner buys the crew those froufrou frozen drinks from Starbucks every afternoon.”
“Sweet.”
“No kidding.” He shoved his phone back in his pocket. “You ready to hit it again?”
“Yeah.” Buzz pushed himself to his feet. “Let me put my stuff in the truck and I’ll join you in a minute.”
“See ya there.”
Suds strolled toward the back of the house, whistling one of those stupid songs with asinine lyrics that were the rage.
After he disappeared around the corner, Buzz picked up the insulated carrier and newspaper from the spot he’d claimed in the side yard and headed for the truck in the driveway. Compared to the estate where Crip was working, this neighborhood was low end.
Not that he begrudged his high school acquaintance a plum job. Ever since that varsity football injury had left him with a limp—and a politically incorrect nickname—he’d had more than his share of challenges.
Buzz tossed the paper and carrier in the truck and swiped the sleeve of his T-shirt over his forehead, anger roiling anew in his gut. No one should have to sweat in this heat to put food on the table and a roof over their head while the fat cats sat on piles of money and pulled the strings on the puppets who did all the real work.
Unless more people were enlightened, though, nothing would change.
Nor would it change if personalities like Eve Reilly, with her bully pulpit, kept convincing the masses that the structure of this country, and the capitalistic society championed by those in power, was worth defending.
“Hey, Buzz.” Suds waved at him from the corner of the house. “Grab the electric screwdriver.”
“Okay.” He turned back to the truck and rummaged for the tool.
Four more hours until he could chill out in his apartment.
It felt like a lifetime.
But he’d survive.
Because he had more to look forward to than a cold beer and another round of Candy Crush.
He had plans to make.
“Yes!” Brent pumped a fist in the air.
“Must be good news.”
As the male voice spoke behind him, he swiveled around in his desk chair at headquarters.
Colin Flynn leaned a shoulder against the door frame. “Either you just secured a hot date or there’s been a positive development with one of your cases.”
At the mention of a hot date, an image of Eve flashed through his mind.
If only.
But the detective colleague he shared an office with had nailed his reaction with his second guess.
“My euphoria is case related.”
“Congrats from a work standpoint. My condolences on the social front.” Colin strolled in and dropped into the chair at his desk. “What case?”
“Eve Reilly.”
“Yeah?” He leaned forward, interest sparking in his eyes. “I was beginning to think that was destined for the deep freeze.”
“Me too. But CSU came through for me at the car scene.”
“What did they find?”
“A small clump of dark hair containing a few strands with roots.”
“Aha. You got a DNA match in CODIS.”
“No.” The FBI database hadn’t yielded anything. “But I got a hit in the DOD DNA Registry.”
“Department of Defense.” Colin leaned back and linked his fingers over his stomach. “So your guy is military—or ex-military.”
“Ex.”
“Any previous lower-level run-ins with law enforcement?”
“That’s what I intend to find out.” A major crime would have yielded a match in CODIS—but that didn’t mean their man was 100 percent clean.
“If you want any help tracking down leads, let me know.” He pulled out his cell and scanned the screen. “I have to take this.”
As Colin angled away, Brent hunkered down and refocused on his computer. With a name and a few other identifying details in hand, it should be easy to gather additional data.
Thirty minutes later, his pulse picked up and he leaned closer to the screen he’d pulled up a minute ago.
How about that?
His suspect wasn’t merely a disenfranchised listener. He had a link to Eve.
Meaning he must have a personal ax to grind.
And now that they had a name, it was possible Eve could shed some light on the motivation.
He eased back in his chair.
A phone call would suffice for professional purposes—but he wanted to see her, even if he still had cold feet after everything he’d shared on Saturday night.
He didn’t have to stay long, though. He wouldn’t stay long. As soon as he passed on the news, he’d get out of there.
But seeing her face when she learned her troubles were almost over would be the highlight of his day.
Get real, Lange. The highlight of your day will be seeing her face, period.
Yeah, yeah.
He stood abruptly, and Colin looked over at him, one eyebrow raised.
Ignoring his colleague, he picked up his cell and made a fast exit. He might be able to hide the truth from his coworkers, but he couldn’t hide it from himself.
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.”
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.”
“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.