Point of Danger (Triple Threat #1) - Irene Hannon Page 0,21
and Eve signaled Ryan to cut the volume.
The music faded out as she continued. “I’ll also be blogging about this topic later this afternoon if any of you would like to hear an explanation sooner. But let me be crystal clear. I would never condone dating a married man. It goes against every principle I believe in about the sanctity of marriage. This will be my lead-off topic on Friday. In the meantime, visit my blog later today for more details.” She signaled Ryan, and the music volume rose. “Until Friday, this is Eve Reilly, fighting the good fight.”
While Ryan flipped switches on the board in front of him, Brent focused on Eve.
If she remembered he was there, she gave no indication of it.
For a full thirty seconds, she remained where she was. Motionless.
At last she took off her headset and began to gather up the papers on the table in front of her.
“Boy . . . that came out of nowhere.” Ryan was watching her too. “Eve can’t catch a break lately.”
“Did you see any ID on that last call?”
“No. My screen was blank, like Eve’s.”
Translation? The caller hadn’t wanted to be identified.
Eve headed for the door, and he did the same. They both emerged into the hall at the same time.
Doug Whitney was waiting for Eve.
“What the heck just happened in there?” The man looked frazzled.
“I wish I knew.” She angled away from the program director. “Good morning.”
“Morning.” Brent stopped beside her.
Doug finally noticed him. “Oh. I didn’t know you were coming by again today.”
“I have to be downtown later this morning for a meeting, so I thought I’d swing by with a few questions for Ms. Reilly that came up from the review I did yesterday of her hate mail. It appears I arrived as phase two of the attack was kicking off.”
Doug stared at him. “You think this is related to the fake bomb?”
“The timing seems too close to be coincidental. Since the person couldn’t physically intimidate Ms. Reilly into silence, they may be resorting to other tactics.”
“And this one could be even more damaging.” Doug ran his fingers through his hair and transferred his attention back to Eve. “Undermining your audience base could have dire consequences for ad revenue.”
“I’m aware of that—but I think we can contain this once I explain the situation to listeners.”
“Tell me that guy’s allegation was a total fabrication.”
She took a deep breath. Let it out. “It’s not true in terms of how the caller positioned it.” She turned to him. “You should sit in while I brief Doug if you think this is relevant to the bomb incident.”
“Let’s use the conference room.” The man started down the hall.
Eve fell in behind him, but when Brent touched her arm she swung back. “Could you use a coffee refill?”
She studied the empty mug in her hand. “Yeah. There’s a pot in the break room.”
He took the mug from her icy fingers. “I found it while I was here yesterday. Cream or sugar?”
“Both. Heavy on the sugar. The conference room is around the corner up there.” She motioned ahead of her, where Doug had already disappeared.
“I’ll be there in three minutes.”
She nodded and continued down the hall, back straight, step confident, head high.
But those chilled fingers had given her away.
They also suggested the listener’s claim had some basis in fact. He may have twisted it to suit his purposes, but there was a nugget of truth in there somewhere.
And that was bad.
While Eve didn’t appear to be a quitter . . . and she might be willing to stand up to a bomb threat . . . this latest attack was much more insidious. Undermining the moral character of a public figure who espoused traditional, conservative values could bring about a bloodless coup.
Doug’s first concern, about her audience and ad revenues—the lifeblood of a radio station—had been telling.
If Eve’s credibility with her listeners was compromised and they deserted her, she wouldn’t have to quit. The show would be cancelled.
Plus, once you planted doubts in people’s minds, they had a tendency to believe the old where-there’s-smoke-there’s-fire adage, regardless of the truth.
Eve was articulate and had natural eloquence—but even an expert communicator would have difficulty combating this kind of foe.
Still . . . if anyone could do it, his money was on Eve Reilly.
Someone was really out to get her.
As Eve sank into a chair in the conference room while Doug handled a quick phone call in his office—no doubt related to the bombshell that