Point of Danger (Triple Threat #1) - Irene Hannon Page 0,68
shoulder or worrying about danger lurking in the shadows.
Al
Fri., Sept. 7, 7:52 a.m.
Been quiet. Status?
Dan
Fri., Sept. 7, 7:54 a.m.
Too quiet. Need another incident. Will handle.
Al
Fri., Sept. 7, 7:54 a.m.
What about main event?
Dan
Fri., Sept. 7, 7:55 a.m.
Instructions to follow. Keep next weekend open.
Al
Fri., Sept. 7, 7:56 a.m.
Part of other event?
Dan
Fri., Sept. 7, 7:56 a.m.
Yes.
Al
Fri., Sept. 7, 7:57 a.m.
Smart.
Dan
Fri., Sept. 7, 7:57 a.m.
Why I’m paid the big bucks. J
Al
Fri., Sept. 7, 7:58 a.m.
Standing by to make ER history.
16
MS. JACKSON . . . may I speak with you for a few minutes?”
As the familiar male voice addressed her, Meg jolted to a stop and swiveled around, pulse hammering. Steve had been right. The detective on Eve’s case had, indeed, sought her out at the office.
What a way to end the week.
Somehow she managed to call up the facsimile of a smile. “Good morning, Detective Lange. I have to let my boss know I’m here and see if he wants me to handle any urgent matters.”
“I’ve already spoken with him. He said he didn’t mind if you were delayed for a few minutes.”
The man had covered all the bases.
But Steve had told her not to talk with anyone from law enforcement.
“I, uh, have a ton of work to do.”
“This won’t take long.”
She shifted her weight. Squeezed the strap of her purse. “Steve doesn’t . . . he prefers I not talk with you.”
“Why is that?” The detective’s tone remained cordial.
“He said he already answered all your questions.”
“We always like to get several perspectives. I won’t detain you long.”
Other arriving staffers cast curious looks their way as they skirted past in the hall, and her cheeks warmed. The middle of a busy corridor wasn’t the best place to have this discussion.
“Can we talk somewhere else?”
“I’ve staked out the conference room.” He motioned behind him.
Without responding, she walked past him and entered the room.
He followed her in and shut the door.
“I can’t tell you anything more than Steve already has.” She clutched her purse to her chest. “This is a waste of time for both of us.”
“That’s possible—but I can spare a few minutes, and a brief chat shouldn’t eat into your day too much.” His posture was open and affable as he motioned toward the table.
Short of being rude—and further raising his suspicions—what choice did she have?
Besides, as long as she was careful, what harm could there be in a brief conversation?
“Fine.” Legs stiff, she crossed to the table and sank into a chair, setting her purse in front of her.
“Would you like coffee?” He indicated the pot. “It’s not the best brew I’ve ever had, but it does contain a generous amount of caffeine.” He offered her an engaging grin.
“No thanks. I’m not a coffee drinker.”
The detective pulled out the chair beside her, angled it her direction, and sat, his posture relaxed. Friendly. Approachable.
He and his partner had been polite at the house last night too. Not many men these days displayed the small courtesies, like standing in a woman’s presence. Including her husband.
“If you change your mind about a beverage, let me know. I’ll be happy to get you a soda if you prefer.” He pulled out a notebook, his demeanor pleasant.
“Thank you. I’m fine.”
She scrutinized him, trying to reconcile this well-mannered, accommodating man with the negative picture Steve had painted of him after she’d returned from her “errands” last night.
Failed.
Either Brent Lange was an excellent actor, or her husband hadn’t presented a truthful portrait of him and his partner.
On the other hand, the detective may not have been as cordial to Steve if he suspected him of harassing Eve. As if her husband would ever do such a thing. Steve had his faults, but he wasn’t a criminal, no matter what this man thought.
So she’d listen to what he had to say—and be careful in her replies. As Steve had reminded her, a wife didn’t have to talk to law enforcement about her spouse.
“Did your husband explain the nature of my visit to your house last night?” Detective Lange’s manner remained genial.
“Yes.”
“Were you surprised?”
“More like shocked. Trying to link my husband to the problems Eve has been having is . . . it’s ludicrous.”
“Did he tell you we found his DNA last Saturday close to her car at a middle school?”
“Yes. He assumed there must have been another incident. But he had a job at that school earlier in the week.”
“So he told us.”
“It’s true.”
“I’m not disputing that. Were you aware that Ms. Reilly’s tires were slashed that evening, and a threatening