Point of Danger (Triple Threat #1) - Irene Hannon Page 0,95

stranger talked—but red flags began popping up as the location sank in. “That’s way off the beaten path.”

“It’s safe.”

Steve doodled a bull’s-eye on the envelope. He was liking this setup less and less. “Why are you doing this?”

“Let’s just say I’m returning a favor. Be there tomorrow at one o’clock. Tell no one about our meeting, come alone, and don’t be late. I’m not waiting around. Stay in your car until I drop the envelope and drive off.”

The line went dead.

Slowly Steve replaced the handset in the cradle. Reread the directions he’d written down.

Was it safe to go alone to such an isolated spot?

Did this person actually have useful information, or was this a scam?

Had he ever done a favor for someone who would feel compelled to repay him? And if so, where had they gotten whatever information they had?

Stymied, he limped over to the table, sat down in front of his cooling pizza, and popped the tab on his beer.

Could this be a trap?

He took a long pull on his beer as he mulled that over.

Nah. He was being paranoid. Who would target him? He didn’t have any enemies.

Well . . . okay, a few. His ex-wife and ex-girlfriend weren’t his biggest fans, but they were far away. Candy was annoyed with him, but she’d find a new guy fast. And Meg didn’t have the guts to do him any physical harm.

So what did he have to lose by showing up? He’d stay in his car, with the doors locked, and if anything seemed the slightest bit suspicious, he’d be out of there.

His attorney wouldn’t approve of such a mysterious, clandestine rendezvous, of course—but it wasn’t the lawyer’s butt on the line. If the meeting was a bust, he never had to know about it. If, on the other hand, it produced a useful piece of information, he’d be happy to have it.

Steve flipped open the pizza box and picked up a slice. He didn’t have to decide this minute whether to show up or not. Why not sleep on it, see if any concerns came to mind overnight?

And if they didn’t, at one o’clock tomorrow he’d be sitting locked tight in his car, cellphone in hand on the off chance he ran into trouble, waiting by an abandoned railroad bridge in far west St. Louis County.

That was odd.

Juggling the plate with two homemade cinnamon rolls in one hand, Eve twisted her other wrist to confirm the time.

No, she wasn’t too early. Olivia had said she always rose at dawn, and it was eight-thirty. Nor would the woman have gone somewhere at this hour. She never ventured out on the roads before nine or ten—or after dark. One of her concessions to advancing age, as she’d confided the day she’d come over with a plate of cookies to welcome her new neighbor.

A return gesture to thank the woman for her many kindnesses was long overdue—but how was she supposed to deliver it when Olivia wasn’t answering the door?

Eve caught her lower lip between her teeth. Could her neighbor be sick . . . or injured? Was that why she wasn’t responding to the knock?

She set the rolls on a patio chair and peered into a window, cupping her hands around her face. The kitchen was dark, the counter clear, the coffeepot empty. As if no one had yet ventured into the room this morning for food or drink.

A niggle of unease skittered up her spine.

Something was definitely wrong.

She dug out her cell. Punched in Olivia’s number. Waited while the phone rang . . . then rolled to voicemail.

Her alarm ratcheted up another notch.

Too bad they hadn’t exchanged keys in case of emergency.

But the older woman had dismissed that suggestion, saying she’d told the police where a spare key was hidden on the property should there ever be a crisis.

Like maybe today.

Trouble was, there was no way to know for certain whether her neighbor required assistance or was sleeping soundly.

Eve swiveled around and surveyed the yard. If she could figure out where the key was, she wouldn’t have to raise what might be a false alarm.

But after ten minutes of fruitless searching, she threw in the towel. If Olivia did need help, every minute she wasted could compound whatever was wrong. She’d have to call the local police, explain the situation, and ask them to send an officer.

After one final knock went unanswered, she summoned help.

Less than five minutes later, a police cruiser swung onto the cul-de-sac sans sirens—as she’d