Point of Danger (Triple Threat #1) - Irene Hannon Page 0,23
nice?
She linked her fingers in her lap, fighting the temptation to initiate that inappropriate contact.
“He turned beet red, apologized, and beat a hasty retreat with his wife.”
“Did you ever hear from him again?” Brent folded his arms and leaned back, his jaw hard.
“Once. He sent a letter. Unsigned, no return address. He said his wife had been emotionally strung out for years, was on a variety of medications, and that life at home was a living hell. He’d thought about divorcing her but felt that was wrong.”
“Yet dating another woman—and misleading her—wasn’t?” Brent narrowed his eyes.
She shrugged. “I can’t speak to his reasoning. All he said was that he was lonely, and the connection he’d felt with me had been too strong to ignore. He claimed he would have told me the truth down the road—but he also admitted he enjoyed our dinners and the respite they gave him from his problems at home. He said he’d never done anything like that before, and never would again. At the end, he apologized, wished me well—and that was that.”
“No one knew about this liaison?” Doug frowned.
“Liaison isn’t the appropriate word. Friendship would be more accurate. We met for dinner five times. There were never any romantic overtures.”
“Didn’t you think that was odd after five dates?” This from Brent.
“No.” She met his gaze straight on. “I told him up front how I felt about casual intimacy. That I wanted to get to know any man I dated on other levels—intellectual, social, spiritual, emotional—first. He accepted that.”
“And you never heard from him again?”
“No.”
“Did anyone else know about this?” Doug repeated his question.
“I told my sisters and my most recent boyfriend. I guarantee my sisters have kept it to themselves, and my ex-boyfriend would have no reason to spread the story around. As for the man who started all this—I doubt he’d share the embarrassing tale.”
“What about his wife?”
“I’m not confident she was as discreet, based on a look I got once from a woman I met at an educational event, who I later found out knew her. But it’s been a dead subject for years, and my only fault in the situation was trusting this man too much.”
Doug tapped a finger on the table. “What are you planning to say in your blog post today?”
“Exactly what I told both of you—along with a warning to all my listeners who are dating to be careful, because it’s easy to find yourself in a compromising situation if you’re too trusting.”
“Let’s hope they buy your version.”
“It’s not my version. It’s the truth.” Eve lifted her chin—but the show of bravado was nothing more than that. Pure show. If her own boss was having doubts about her moral character, that didn’t bode well for the reaction of strangers.
“I didn’t mean it like that. I’m in your corner, Eve.” Doug touched her shoulder and rose. “I’ll deal with any fallout from advertisers and try to keep knee-jerk reactions at bay while we monitor audience feedback.” He shifted his attention to Brent. “Did you want to talk with me while you’re here?”
“No. I just have to ask Ms. Reilly a few questions.”
“In that case, I’ll head back to my office. The conference room is free until ten, so no hurry to vacate.” He reached over to shake Brent’s hand. “Thanks for your work on this case. Anything more we can do to help, give us a shout.”
“I’ll do that.” Brent rose and gripped his fingers.
He remained standing, and after Doug exited he picked up his disposable cup. “I’m going to get a refill. Would you like a warm-up?” He indicated her half-empty mug.
“I’m fine.”
“Give me two minutes.”
As he disappeared out the door, half-closing it behind him, Eve let out a shaky breath.
Her reassurance to Brent seconds ago had been a lie. She wasn’t fine. Not even close.
First a fake bomb on her doorstep, now a bomb of a different kind. Both calculated to intimidate and ruin her career.
And maybe they would.
Maybe forces beyond her control would ultimately torpedo her radio program and silence her.
But she wasn’t going down without a fight.
Eve Reilly had never been a quitter. As far back as high school, the yearbook had named her Most Likely to Beat the Odds.
That hadn’t changed.
Assuming she could convince her audience that today’s caller had a hidden agenda, she’d weather this latest attack and go on to fight another day.
Unless her nemesis had more firepower in his arsenal, ready to deploy if this latest tactic didn’t work.