Point of Danger (Triple Threat #1) - Irene Hannon Page 0,18
rich squares from beneath the plastic wrap. “And I for one could use a helping of comfort food today. I’ll work off the calories later at my spinning class.”
“Having an outlet for stress is smart.”
“More now than ever.” She took a bite of the brownie, letting the chocolate dissolve on her tongue.
“I listened in on your show this morning. I thought you handled the whole matter with aplomb.”
Eve’s throat tightened.
While Olivia was a new friend in her life, the older woman had gone out of her way to welcome her to the neighborhood. And since she’d confessed early on that she didn’t have a political bone in her body and hated controversy, her neighbor’s effort to listen to the program was touching.
“I appreciate the encouragement—and also that you tuned in. I know my program isn’t your thing.”
“I worry about you, my dear.” She patted her hand. “Has there been any news from the police? I hate to think the crazy person who left that fake bomb is still on the loose.”
“I haven’t heard anything, which leads me to believe there haven’t been any breaks in the case.”
“That’s unfortunate. Are the police concerned that this person could come back?”
“I don’t think they’ve ruled out that possibility.” Especially given Brent’s suggestion about personal security.
But Olivia didn’t have to know that. It would only make her worry, and it wasn’t as if there was much chance her older neighbor would be in the line of fire if the person did decide to pay a repeat visit.
“That’s troublesome. Do you think you ought to beef up your security here at the house?”
Eve pulled a tissue out of her pocket and wiped the chocolate residue from her fingers. “I’ve got a first-class system. Once I arm it, no one can get in without me—and the police—being informed.”
“But that wouldn’t prevent someone from leaving another bomb on the property.”
There was that.
“If this person comes back, I doubt they’ll try the same technique twice.”
At least she hoped not.
“You’re probably right. But I do hope you’ll be careful.”
“That’s my plan.”
“Well . . . you have work to do and I have a soap to watch.” She winked and rose. “If I can ever be of help, though, don’t hesitate to call. I may not move as fast as I used to, but I can dial 911 as quick as anyone.”
“I’ll keep that in mind—and thank you.”
“No thanks necessary. This is what neighbors do. Enjoy the rest of those brownies—and keep your phone close at hand when you’re outside . . . just in case.”
With that encouraging thought, her neighbor lifted a hand in farewell and recrossed the lawn.
Eve glanced around her backyard, a tiny tingle of trepidation prickling through her.
She didn’t need Olivia’s warning to remind her to be on red alert. Ever since she’d found the fake bomb, she’d been looking over her shoulder and jumping at every tiny noise—not how she’d ever intended to live her life.
So while reasonable precautions were prudent, she’d carry on as usual otherwise . . . although that would be much easier to do if the police identified the person who’d left the fake bomb.
She picked up her cell. Weighed it in her hand.
Brent Lange had said to call him anytime. All she had to do was scroll through her address book, press his number . . . and ask for an update.
However . . . if he had anything to report, he’d have called her—as he’d promised. The detective struck her as the kind of guy who kept his word.
She set the phone on the table and sank back in her chair.
Bothering him at work simply to hear his resonant, reassuring voice was selfish. For all she knew, the man could be at a crime scene.
So she’d wait for him to call her.
And until then, she’d continue to do what she’d been doing—and what Olivia had advised.
Be super careful.
Because even though her life had been quiet since Friday night, she couldn’t shake the feeling that there was another threat hovering in the wings.
“Until next time, this is Carolyn Matthews signing off.”
Carolyn ended the podcast with one keystroke, sat back in her chair, and took a sip of water.
That had been an excellent program.
Excellent enough to deserve a slot on real radio.
Yet no matter how hard she’d pushed Doug, he’d given her no specific promises.
She screwed the lid back on her water with more force than necessary.
After eight months stroking his ego and playing the charm card, she should have gotten