Point of Danger Page 10

  And since Brent could probably recommend a firm, that gave her a legitimate excuse to call him.

  Her spirits took another uptick.

  She finished dressing and slipped on a pair of flat sandals, a smile playing at her lips.

  Much as she’d enjoy this outing with Grace, wouldn’t it be fun to visit St. Louis’s iconic custard stand with Brent?

  But she had to get through this crisis first. There’d be time to think about the future afterward.

  Assuming there was a future.

  Expelling a breath, she picked up her purse. That dark thought needed to be banished ASAP.

  Yet hard as she tried to shake it off, an unsettling sense of jeopardy hovered at the edges of her consciousness, clinging as persistently as the oppressive humidity of a St. Louis summer day.

  8

  WATER BREAK.” Adam Moore stopped, pulled the bottle off his waist pack, and took a long gulp.

  Brent followed his best friend’s example. Running in this heat without adequate hydration was dangerous, even if they had waited until after the sun set to log a few midweek miles.

  They drained their bottles in silence.

  “You’ve been quiet tonight.” Adam slid his empty bottle back into place.

  “Long day.”

  “Transitioning to a new job is always rough. They give you any interesting cases yet?”

  “Yeah. Did you hear about that fake bomb someone left at a local radio show host’s house?”

  Adam stared at him. “You’re working the Eve Reilly case?”

  “I was the closest detective when the call came in last Friday. I take it you’ve been following the media coverage?”

  “Hard not to. The press has been all over the story.” He propped his hands on his hips. “That’s a high-profile assignment for a rookie.”

  Brent coaxed out a few more drops of liquid and stowed his bottle. “After ten years as a cop, I’m not exactly new to law enforcement.”

  “You’re new to the detective ranks.” Adam swiped off a bead of sweat tracking down his temple. “So tell me about Eve Reilly. Is she as dynamic in person as she is on the radio?”

  That was not a topic he wanted to discuss.

  “Yes. Let’s run.” He took off, leaving Adam no choice but to follow. If he picked up the pace, maybe his once-a-week running partner would focus on pounding the pavement and forget about conversation.

  His buddy caught up to him in a few strides. “Why don’t you want to talk about her?”

  So much for any hope of avoiding that subject.

  Time for evasive maneuvers.

  “I’m happy to talk about her—but I’ve only seen her twice. Why are you interested in her?”

  “I like her show.”

  “I didn’t know you were into talk radio.”

  “I’m not—but Rebecca got me hooked on Eve’s program.” He dodged another jogger who was running the opposite direction. “I tune in while I’m driving to work, unless I’m practicing an opening statement or closing argument—a frequent activity if I’m alone in my car.”

  “You ever get any strange looks from fellow commuters while you do that?”

  “Not often. These days, most people assume I’m on a hands-free call. But at a stoplight a couple of years ago, I noticed the passenger in the adjacent car watching me with a weird expression. She had her window open, so I cranked mine down too and called over to her that I was a prosecuting attorney practicing for court.”

  “What happened?” With Adam, there was always a punch line.

  “She rolled up her window, nudged the guy behind the wheel, and they left me in the dust the minute the light changed. Of course, given that I was on my way to that mystery-dinner costume party we were both invited to, my Lord Voldemort outfit probably didn’t give me much credibility.”

  Brent laughed out loud—and after the frustration of five fruitless days spent trying to untangle Eve’s situation, the brief moment of levity was refreshing.

  “I remember that party—but not my costume.”

  “It wasn’t memorable, like mine. I still can’t believe Rebecca gave me a second glance while I was dressed in that getup.”

  “She did more than that. She married you.”

  “Yeah.”

  The deepening dusk shadowed Adam’s face, but Brent could hear the smile in his voice.

  Must be sweet to have a beautiful, intelligent, articulate, caring, witty wife to go home to.

  An image of Eve materialized in his mind.

  As if Adam had sensed the direction of his thoughts, his friend returned to his original line of questioning. “So what’s your famous client like?”

  Beautiful, intelligent, articulate, caring, witty.

  But he wasn’t going to say any of that.

  “She’s not a client. She’s a crime victim.”

  Adam waved a hand. “Don’t throw technicalities at me. Just answer the question.”

  He chose his words with care. “She’s putting up a brave front—but she’s scared.”

  “Who wouldn’t be in her shoes? You have any leads?”

  Brent looked over at him. “Are you asking that as an assistant prosecuting attorney or a friend?”

  “I don’t have my lawyer hat on tonight.”

  “In that case, leads are few and far between—but there was a new development this morning.”

  Brent filled him in on the call—but Adam zeroed in on a different part of the story. “Why were you at the station?”

  “I already told you. While I was downtown for a meeting, I stopped in to give her an update.”

  “If you haven’t had many leads, how much of an update could there be?”

  Leave it to a trial attorney to pull out the most pertinent—and incriminating—fact.

  “Like I told you, she’s scared. I figured showing up in person would reassure her I’m giving her case a high priority.”

  Silence except for the slap of their shoes against the pavement and the faint wail of a siren in the distance.

  Brent braced for Adam’s follow-up.

  Nothing came.

  Finally he risked a sidelong glance at him.

  Adam was grinning.

  As if sensing his scrutiny, his friend met his gaze, making no attempt to hide his amusement.

  “What’s so funny?” As the question spilled out, Brent stifled a groan. If he wanted to change the subject, giving Adam a chance to expound wasn’t his smartest tactical move.

  “Your last comment.” Adam transferred his attention back to the path.

  “I don’t see the humor in reassuring a crime victim I’m keeping her case top of mind.”

  “Keeping her case top of mind—or keeping her top of mind?”

  As usual, his friend had cut straight to the chase.

  Instead of responding, he broke into a sprint, giving the well-lit area a sweep. This was a safe part of town—and the park was full of people who’d waited until the temperature cooled at dusk to clock their daily miles—but once a cop, always a cop.

  “Hey . . . was that sudden burst of speed a new training technique—or an avoidance tactic?” Adam drew up beside him again.

  He could pretend he was too winded to talk, but his buddy would see through that in a heartbeat. Between his running and regular gym workouts, he was in excellent shape.

  “No comment.”

  “Must mean you have a personal interest in the lady.”

  “Jumping to conclusions is dangerous, counselor.”

  “It’s not a jump if the evidence points that direction.”

  “You know I’m not in the market for a relationship.”

  “I thought that might change after I got married.”

  “Nope.” Even if life had been lonelier since his friend’s wedding six months ago. Adam was diligent about staying in touch, but it wasn’t like the old days when they could call each other up at four o’clock and book an impromptu dinner together.

  “I think you
’re nuts.”

  Brent forced a lightness he didn’t feel into his tone. “Don’t hold back. Tell me how you really feel.”

  “You know how I feel. I’ve been up front about it ever since you declared a moratorium on dating.”

  “I date.”

  “Only if you’re pressured into it for a couples-oriented social event. And never the same woman twice.”

  “So? I don’t want to lead anyone on.”

  “Where does that leave you with Eve Reilly?”

  Good question.

  Once this case wrapped up, he’d be free to ask her out—but unless his instincts were failing, a date with her would simply whet his appetite for more.

  And that could undermine his resolve to walk a wide circle around commitments.

  They rounded the last curve in the path and entered the home stretch.

  “Assuming I was interested—and I’m not admitting I am—I don’t have to make that call yet.”

  “You want my advice?”

  “If I say no, will you back off?”

  “What do you think?” An elbow connected with his rib cage, and his friend chuckled.

  He gave a protracted sigh. “Fine. Say your piece.”

  “I’ll give it to you in a nutshell. The situation with Karen was unfortunate. I know she was traumatized, and I know you were freaked out by her reaction. I get that. But not every female is incapable of dealing with risk. In my experience, women in general are incredibly strong.”

  Again, an image of Eve materialized in his mind. She fell into the strong category—and she had spunk and smarts to match.

  But it didn’t matter how strong she was. Putting the kind of life-and-death stress his job entailed on someone he loved would test their fortitude—and it would be selfish.

  Period.

  Even if most of his colleagues agreed with Adam’s viewpoint—and lived their lives accordingly.

  But they hadn’t been through what he’d experienced. And he never wanted to go down that road again, or cause anyone that kind of emotional distress.

  “Are you thinking about what I said, or did you tune me out?” Adam pulled slightly ahead.

  “I didn’t tune you out.”

  “But you’re not reconsidering your position.”

  He didn’t respond.

  “I’ll assume my take is correct.” Adam blew out a breath. “But I’m betting the right woman could change your mind, if you gave her a chance.”

  Brent finished the last hundred yards in silence, and Adam let the subject drop as they cooled down and parted for the night.

  Yet as he drove home alone in the dark . . . as he pictured the bare-bones condo in desperate need of a few decorating touches that would give it warmth and personality . . . his friend’s last comment replayed in his mind.

  New as Eve was in his life, his intuition told him she might be the woman who could change his mind about a serious relationship.

  If he could ever put the specter of Karen’s legacy to rest.

  Meg’s radio station gig wasn’t working for him.

  Steve shoved aside the drapes in the living room and scanned the street in front of the house again.

  No sign of her, and it was after nine.

  She should have been here to greet him when he got home from his Wednesday bowling-and-pizza night. He expected that—and she knew it. If a man couldn’t count on his wife to put him first and keep his home running smoothly, what could he count on?

  His dad hadn’t been right about much, but he’d nailed the role of wives. Their primary job was to keep their husbands happy.

  A job his mother had failed at—big-time—thanks to that corporate position she’d taken. Once she had her own money, she hadn’t wanted—or needed—her husband or son anymore.

  He fisted his hand and kicked the baseboard.

  After his experience with dear old Mom, it was no wonder he’d vowed to someday find a woman who could be controlled—and who would never be a flight risk.

  Meg had fit the bill.

  Or she had, until he’d relented after the miscarriage and let her apply for that stupid job at the radio station he’d never expected her to get.

  How could he have known Eve Reilly would intervene, convincing management to give his wife the position over better-qualified candidates—and putting ideas in her head about exercise classes and dieting and becoming more active in her church?

  He gritted his teeth and muttered a few choice words he’d picked up years ago from his dad. Thanks to Miss Radio Personality, his wife was starting down the same path as his mother.

  And he couldn’t let that happen.

  He yanked out his cell.

  She either had to quit—not a choice she appeared inclined to make—or the job had to go away. Especially after tonight. Working late wasn’t acceptable . . . even if he’d only arrived home ten minutes ago himself.

  Finger poised to jab in her speed dial number, he paused as headlights appeared at the end of the street.

  Fifteen seconds later, a car swung into the narrow access lane beside their house.

  Finally.

  Shoving the cell back in his pocket, he stomped into the kitchen, positioned himself a few feet from the back door, and crossed his arms. It wouldn’t take her long to appear. Since the single-car attached garage was his, she always parked in the alley behind the house.

  Two minutes later, the door opened.

  She halted as soon as she saw him. Offered a tentative smile.

  He didn’t return it.

  “Hi, hon. Sorry I’m late.” She closed the door but waited inside—as if she was uncertain of her welcome.

  “It’s after nine.”

  “I know. I texted you about what happened at work. Didn’t you get my message?”

  “I got it—and I didn’t like it. Your salary doesn’t justify working long hours.”

  “Doug said they’d add overtime pay to my check, given the unusual circumstances.” She eased into the room and deposited her purse on the counter. “How was bowling?”

  “I don’t want to talk about bowling.” He moved toward her.

  A flicker of fear flared in her eyes . . . as if she was worried he might hit her.

  Good.

  He wanted her submissive and compliant. That’s how a wife—a woman—should be.

  But physical violence wasn’t necessary. There were much more effective ways to exert control, as he’d learned from his dad.

  However . . . they only worked if you kept a woman isolated and dependent.

  That’s why Meg’s job had to go—sooner rather than later.

  He stopped in front of her, lifted a hand as she watched him with trepidation . . . and stroked his fingers down her cheek. “I’m worried about you, babe. The situation at that station is dangerous.”

  “N-not for me.”

  After a few beats, he motioned to the kitchen table. “Let’s sit.”

  She hesitated—but when he pulled out a chair and waited, she slid onto it.

  “Today was unusual, Steve.” She leaned toward him as soon as he was seated, posture taut, twin furrows creasing her brow. “Like I told you in the text, after that call came in, the station was in a frenzy. They wanted me to monitor the reaction on social media. I could have stayed until midnight, but Doug insisted I come home.”

  “Does that mean you’ll have to work late tomorrow night too?”

  She shifted in her seat. “I don’t know. Until we get past this craziness, everyone’s schedule is thrown out of whack—but it can’t go on forever. Whoever is causing Eve all this grief will eventually give up.”

  “Or she will.”

  “No.” The definitive shake of Meg’s head left no room for argument. “She’s not a quitter.”

  “Maybe she won’t have a choice. After today, her audience could desert her.”

  “In light of all the support she’s receiving on social media, I don’t think that will happen.”

  Neither
did he, after reading a fair sampling of the comments on her blog. Near as he could tell, they were running 90 percent in her favor.

  “Then you should think about resigning.”

  “Steve.” She reached for his hand, her demeanor beseeching. “I enjoy the job, and I’d like to stick with it awhile. The long hours won’t last. But I know you’re concerned. So why don’t we compromise? After we get past the current crisis, I could ask Doug if he’d let me work through lunch. That would get me out of there an hour earlier, and I could have supper underway before you get home.”

  “Until the next crisis hits.”

  “I’m not expecting anything else like this to come up in the foreseeable future.”

  “But it could.” He pulled his hand free of her cold fingers. “I think you have to decide which is more important—your job or our marriage. Didn’t we agree you’d be a stay-at-home wife?”

  “Yes.” She linked her fingers into a tight knot on the table. “I just didn’t realize how lonely I’d be here all day by myself. My old job wasn’t great, but I liked the social interaction. It would be different if I had a child to care for, but with all the complications from the miscarriage, that may never happen.” A sheen appeared in her eyes.

  “I talked to the doctor. He didn’t rule out the possibility of you getting pregnant.”

  “No—but the odds aren’t in our favor. And I always wanted to be a m-mother.”

  “That could still happen.”

  “Until it does, though, the job fills up my empty days.”

  Meaning if they never had children, she’d push to keep working.

  Not acceptable.

  “We could always consider adopting.” That wasn’t a serious option, but it could be a bargaining chip to help him achieve his goal if Eve’s show continued.

  Her jaw dropped. “I thought you’d nixed that.”

  “I may reconsider if it’s that important to you—and if we don’t have any success having our own children.”

  She bit her lip and studied him. “An adopted child would be our own child.”

  “Of course.” He waved aside her comment. Having a rug rat by any method was unappealing. Kids were disruptive. But if they kept Meg in the house? Worth the sacrifice. She’d be the one taking care of them anyway. “Here’s the thing, though. From what I’ve heard, adopting is almost a full-time job.”