19
Tell your sisters to watch their backs. Don’t expect that detective to keep you—or them—safe. If you want this to end, shut up. Now.
Brent reread the note Eve had handed him the instant he walked in the door. Looked at her.
Her arms were folded tight against her chest, and her fair skin had paled, calling attention to the few, faint freckles on her nose that weren’t usually detectable.
The latest incident had shaken her.
And he wasn’t any too steady, either—especially after the phone calls he’d placed on the heels of his conversation with her while he was driving back to St. Louis.
“Let’s sit somewhere.”
“I’d offer the living room, but as you can see, it remains furnitureless.” She motioned toward the empty space as she walked toward the back of the house.
“Floor turned out great, though.”
“Thanks.” She indicated the fridge as she entered the kitchen. “Do you want anything to drink? Or a killer brownie made by my eighty-one-year-old neighbor? She may be totally clueless about technology and prefer soaps to heavy discussions about social issues, but she sure knows how to use an oven.”
Eve’s uncharacteristic chatter was more evidence her nerves had kicked in.
“No thanks.”
She continued to the table, perching on one of the bar-height chairs as he dropped the note into an evidence envelope and claimed the seat next to her. “Always prepared, I see.”
“Goes with the territory. I keep a few of these in my personal car for emergencies.” He ran his hand over the scruff on his chin. “Sorry about this, by the way. I don’t shave on these camping trips, and rather than detour to the house after your call, I drove straight here.”
“No problem. The bad-boy stubble is intriguing on a good-guy face.” She attempted a smile, but the corners of her mouth quivered. “So what’s going on? Did you find out if your people have had Steve under surveillance?”
“On and off—but not for the past two hours.”
She exhaled. “So he could have put that on my porch.” She touched the evidence bag.
“No, he couldn’t. He’s been in the emergency room for several hours. Car accident.”
Eve stared at him. “But I . . . I don’t understand. I thought he was . . . isn’t he our guy? I mean, you found his DNA in the parking lot. Doesn’t that incriminate him?”
“Circumstantial evidence isn’t all that helpful, unless there’s a preponderance of it. Even then, it’s iffy. A competent defense attorney would dismiss it. But I’d bet my bank account he was the slasher.”
“Yet he isn’t responsible for that.” She waved her hand toward the note. “So where does this leave us?”
Nowhere good.
However . . . Eve was already spooked. He’d have to ease into the theory he’d been formulating since the hospital confirmed Steve’s presence—one that had solidified after he read the note resting on the table between them.
“It leaves us with a new possibility.”
She squinted at him. “I’m not going to like this, am I?”
“No—and neither do I. But we have to consider the facts and follow them to their logical conclusion.”
“Which is?”
“Let’s back up first. Based on the window between straightening up your deck and finding the note, Steve couldn’t have left it. It’s possible he has an accomplice—but my take on his personality is that he operates solo. That means this note is from someone unconnected to him.”
He waited, giving her a chance to reach the same conclusion he had.
After a few beats, her eyes widened. “That must mean . . . could two people be targeting me?”
“I’d say that’s a credible theory—more so in light of the written communication you’ve received. The two notes we think Steve left are short. One had a misspelling. This is much longer and the spelling is correct. Also—the one left the night of the tire slashing said it was the final warning. Why leave any more messages?”
Eve lost a few more shades of color. “So Steve may not be behind all the incidents that happened before today.”
“Or he could have been—and someone with another objective is seizing the opportunity to coast in under the radar, wreak havoc . . . and let him take the fall.”
“Wonderful.” She tucked her hair behind her ear, inhaled, and linked her fingers on the table. “Let’s switch gears for a minute and talk about the threat to my sisters. That’s never come up before. And why did this person mention you?”
“I’m assuming he’s been monitoring your activities. Watching your house. He’s seen me coming and going, and you said your sisters visit on a regular basis.”
Dismay tightened her features. “It was hard enough dealing with the idea that someone was after me, but if I’m also endangering my sisters . . .” Her voice trailed off.
“Let them know about the note. From what I’ve seen and heard of Cate, she can take care of herself—and your other sister isn’t in town.”
“She also carries a gun.”
“Two points in her favor. She won’t be the most convenient target—if this person even follows through on the threat.”
Eve lifted one hand and massaged her temples. “Can this get any more complicated?”
Yeah, it could. But why bring that up unless—
His phone began to vibrate, and he pulled it off his belt. Frowned at the screen.
Sarge wouldn’t be calling him on a Sunday evening unless they were short of personnel at a major crime scene.
“Give me a minute.” He rose, walking away as he spoke.
“Don’t hurry on my account. I could use a few minutes to absorb this latest curveball.”
He put the phone to his ear and retreated to the foyer as he greeted Sarge—and prepared to beg off an assignment for tonight. The situation with Eve required his immediate and full-time attention. While there was no question Steve had broken the law, the challenge was gathering sufficient evidence to book him.
But the possible involvement of a third party put a whole new spin on this—and added an exponential degree of risk.
Meaning Eve was back in the bull’s-eye.
This was getting old.
As the low rumble of Brent’s voice drifted into the kitchen from the foyer, Eve stood.
Neither of them might want a soft drink, but she had to expend some of the restless energy coursing through her—and sitting here waiting for him to return wasn’t doing the job.
She should also warn Cate and Grace ASAP in case this guy followed through on his latest threat. Brent could be correct in his assumption that neither of them were at as much risk as she was, but until they nailed her nemesis, she wasn’t going to be able to shake her worry.
As she set their drinks on the table, Brent returned, his expression difficult to read.
“Trouble?” She pushed his soda toward him.
He picked it up and took a long swallow. But he didn’t sit. “A new development. It seems we may have an eyewitness to the fake bomb delivery.”
A surge of hope buoyed her spirits. “That’s fantastic news!”
“If it pans out. He’s nine.”
“Children aren’t credible witnesses?”
“Not under the age of seven, usually. Older than that? Depends on the child. This one’s closer to ten, which helps.” He finished the drink in a couple of long gulps and set the can back on the table. “I’m going to call a colleague of mine, see if he’s free for an hour to go along on the interview. I want a second read on whatever we hear. And I have to swing by the office first to prep. Walk me to the door?”
She followed him to the foyer. “I guess this means I’ll have to go back into red-alert mode.”
“Yes.” He paused, his hand on the knob. “I’ll swing by and take you to work again tomorrow.”
“I can’t keep asking you to get up at the crack of dawn to chauffeur me to the station.”
“You didn’t ask. I offered. If this continues to drag on, we’ll regroup and you can think about hiring Phoenix. But I don’t want you to break the bank until there’s no other option. Seem reasonable?”
“To me, yes. I’m not certain it’s a fair deal for you.”
“It’s more than fair. I’ll sleep sounder knowing I’ll have your back while you’re out and about. You’d actually be doing me a favor.” He flashed her a quick grin.
The corners of her lips rose. “When you put it like that . . .”
“Lock up. I’ll call you after the interview, assuming we can pull this off tonight. Otherwise, expect me bright and early tomorrow morning.”
She caught his gaze. Held it. “Thank you.”
His brown eyes warmed, like molten, rich chocolate. “It’s my pleasure.”
He hesitated for a moment—then took a step back, exited, and followed her walk to the street.
Eve closed the door but remained by the sidelight, watching as he circled the cul-de-sac and drove away. Only after his taillights disappeared did she wander back to the kitchen to face the task at the top of her priority list.
Calling her sisters.
She scrunched up her nose. This was not going to be fun.
Aside from the fact that she was worried about them, they were both going to morph into uber-protective mode and fixate on the danger to her. Cate would push her again to get a concealed carry permit, and Grace would feel compelled to make more long drives into town from her rural digs.
But she already had protection, in the form of a very competent, very handsome detective.
Nevertheless, this case needed to get solved fast so everyone could return to their normal life.
Eve unplugged her cell from the charging cord, sat back at the table, and sighed.
Normal.
That sure sounded appealing about now. Fake bombs and old scandals and slashed tires and threatening notes were the pits.
Yet as she speed-dialed Cate, she had a sinking feeling there was another chapter or two left to play out in the living nightmare that had become her life.
“Sorry for the Sunday night callout.” Brent locked his car as he joined Colin in front of the Allen house.
“Not a problem. Trish and I finished dinner while you ran to the office. Besides, she’s used to this drill.”
Brent pocketed his keys. Despite his usual walk-a-wide-circle-around-personal-territory philosophy with colleagues, this was too perfect an opportunity to pass up. “How does she handle the danger of your job?” He kept his tone casual.
“She prays a lot.” One side of Colin’s mouth rose.
The blow-off answer told him nothing. But that was what you got when you nosed into other people’s business.
“You ready to do this?” He nodded toward the house and took a step.
Colin grabbed his arm. “Hey.”
Brent turned back. His colleague’s humor had evaporated.
“I was more than half serious with that answer. Trish has always relied on prayer. But she also knows I never take unnecessary risks, and that I’m well trained and experienced at this job. She factors all that in. Does she still worry? Yes. On the flip side, I worry about her too. The school where she teaches is in a risky area. In the end, though, you have to let people do what they’re called to do and put the rest in God’s hands. Once you manage that, life is much less stressful.”
That was the longest speech Colin had ever made in his presence—and it seemed to come from the heart.
“Thank you.”
“Hey . . . anything to help smooth the path of romance.” He winked.
Brent wasn’t touching that comment. “You ready?”
“Yeah. But you may want to get rid of the blood.” Colin tapped the left side of his own jaw.
“I must have cut myself shaving at the office. I was in a hurry.” He fished out a handkerchief and scrubbed at the spot.
“I thought you kept an electric razor there.”
“I do.”
“In that case, how—”
“Don’t ask. Let’s do this.” He stuffed his handkerchief back in his pocket. No way was he admitting he’d been so distracted since getting Eve’s call almost three hours ago that he’d shaved against the grain.
In all his years of law enforcement, that had never, ever happened—and the significance wasn’t lost on him.
But he didn’t have time to deal with the implications.
A guy who appeared to be in his late thirties answered the door seconds after they pressed the bell.
“John Allen?” Brent held out his hand.
“Yes.”
He did the introductions. “Thanks for your call. Every lead is appreciated.”
“Happy to help.” He lowered his volume. “Jeremy knows you’re coming, and he’s pumped about the idea of meeting a real-life detective—or two.” He encompassed Colin with that comment.
Excellent.
A kid who was excited was more apt to offer useful information than one who was nervous.
“You didn’t tell him why we’re interested in the man he saw, did you?”
“No. I understood your rationale for wanting to get his input without referencing a particular case. Please . . . come in.” He pulled the door wide. “Jeremy and my wife are waiting for you in there.” He indicated an archway off the foyer.
Brent crossed to the threshold, Colin on his heels.
A thirtysomething woman rose from the sofa, and the young boy beside her leaped to his feet, eyes dancing with excitement.
Brent repeated the introductions, ending with the nine-year-old. He bent down and held out his hand. “Very nice to meet you, Jeremy.”
The boy shook his hand. Did the same with Colin.
“Why don’t we all sit?” John moved to the couch.
Brent took a seat beside the sofa, leaving Jeremy bookended by his parents. Colin claimed a side chair that would allow him to observe but was close enough for him to jump in if he chose.
“Jeremy, your mom told us you saw a man today who may be someone we want to question. Can you tell us why you noticed him?”
“Sure.” The boy proceeded to repeat the story his mother had relayed during the conference call she and her husband had placed to him two hours ago, ending with the comment about the man’s gait—a distinctive identifying characteristic that would be gold in any investigation . . . if it was accurate.
In this case it was, according to one of the detectives he’d spoken with who’d done a shift tailing Jackson. He was the only one who’d noted the very slight hitch in the man’s walk—making this kid more observant than most of the highly trained surveillance experts who’d been on the job.
And there was an explanation for Jackson’s gait.
After Jeremy’s mother had passed on her son’s observation, it hadn’t taken long to dig into Jackson’s background and discover a football injury to his ankle that had ended his high school varsity career but wasn’t otherwise debilitating.
“What did the man do that day after he left the FedEx box?” Brent kept his posture relaxed and open.
“He looked around—kinda like he was worried someone was watching him—then walked real fast back down the street, right past our car. But he didn’t see me, ’cause I was in the backseat. I thought it was weird he didn’t have a truck. I was gonna ask my mom when she got back, but she was talking on her phone and I forgot about it—until I saw the guy again. Did he do something bad?”
“That’s what we’re trying to find out.” Brent opened his small portfolio and extracted the five headshots he’d printed off—including one of Steve. He spread them on the coffee table. “Are any of these people the man you saw at the house that day, and in the parking lot this afternoon?”
The boy wiggled to the edge of the couch and gave the photos a fast sweep. “That one.” He pointed at Jackson’s photo.
Brent glanced at the boy’s mother.
“That’s the man we saw today,” she confirmed.
The boy leaned closer to study the image. “See how his eyebrows are kinda crooked? I noticed that about him too.” He leaned back again. “And I saw stuff that’s not in the picture. Like, the day he walked by the car, after he left the box? He was sweating real bad. And he kept scratching his arm. I thought he had a mosquito bite, but it was more than that ’cause he kept doing it.”
Brent looked at Colin. That was the same behavior they’d noticed while they’d questioned Jackson.
This was one perceptive kid.
“I think we can wrap up for today. Thank you for your time—and a special thanks to you, Jeremy. People like you help us do our jobs.” He took out three cards and handed one to each of the family members. “If we have any other questions, we’ll be in touch. And feel free to call if you remember anything else that could be useful.”
The boy fingered the card. “I never met a real-life detective before. Can I tell my friends about this?”
“Yes—but why don’t you wait until we close this case? For now, it’s best if only insiders know what’s going on, and we always ask our important sources to cooperate. Can you keep a secret?”
Jeremy’s chest puffed out. “Yeah. I’m good with secrets.”
“Perfect.” Brent rose, and Colin followed his lead.
They said their goodbyes at the door and retraced their steps down the walk.
“Sorry to pull you out on a Sunday night, but I wanted a second opinion on the boy’s credibility.” Brent dug out his keys.
“Very high, in my opinion. That is one sharp kid. He didn’t miss a trick. We could use more like him in our ranks.”
“That was my take too—and the timing of his sighting the day of the bomb threat coincides with Jackson’s lunch break.”
“So what’s next?”
“Another conversation with Jackson—and I’ll get a warrant for his arrest in the works. I’m also going to talk with any of his coworkers who were on the job the day of the bomb scare. It wouldn’t hurt to touch base with Candy, either. That guy has guilt written all over him.” Brent shifted into the shade.
“I agree. I’m sold that he’s our man for the fake bomb and tire-slashing incidents—but I’m still not convinced he’d have the resources to find the old dirt on Eve Reilly. I also doubt he had anything to do with today’s note. We know he couldn’t have delivered it personally, and I agree with you he isn’t the type to work with a partner on a scheme like this.”
“Which brings me back to the theory that someone is using all the threats against Eve as a cover for their own agenda.”
“I see where you’re coming from with that—but you realize it puts us back at square one. Makes this a whole new investigation.”
“Yeah.” Brent stopped by the hood of his car and shook his head. “And here I thought we were about to wrap this up.”
“You do have one advantage.”
“What?”
“This third party made a mistake. They didn’t know we had a suspect in our sights. If they had, they wouldn’t have sent that note. So they’ve outed themselves. It’s just a matter of figuring out their identity and their plan.”
“Right. Piece of cake.” Brent expelled a breath.
One side of Colin’s mouth twitched. “There is one other positive spin to this. You’ll have a war story about your first case no one will ever be able to match.”
“I’d give up bragging rights in a heartbeat to keep Eve safe.”
Colin’s momentary humor vanished. “I hear you. Been there, done that. I came within an inch of losing Trish during her case. Hang in. We’ll get this figured out. See you at the office tomorrow.” With a wave, he returned to his car.
Brent opened his door, slid behind the wheel, and started the engine.
First priority? Get an update on Jackson’s condition, see if he was able to handle an interview. With all the evidence they’d compiled, it was possible the man would cave.
A long shot, but it could happen.
Yet a huge question remained.
Who else was targeting Eve—and why?
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