“You think it’s yours?”
“The suspicious package was left on my doorstep.”
“Any theories about who did it, or why?”
“Nothing specific—but I’m on quite a few people’s blacklist.”
Not what he’d expected to hear.
“Explain that.”
A wry smile touched the corners of her mouth. “I take it you don’t keep up with local talk radio.”
“No.”
“I host a syndicated current-events show three mornings a week. While I try to present all sides, I make no secret about my personal conservative leanings. That doesn’t sit well with everyone.”
“Does that mean you’ve been targeted before?”
“Never like this—and never at home.” She watched the bomb crew in the distance prepare the robot for deployment, faint creases marring her forehead. “Until today, the attacks have been confined to words and an occasional harmless package.”
“Define harmless.”
“A box of manure was delivered to the studio once. Also the back end of a two-person donkey costume. And a few months ago someone sent a voodoo doll that resembled me, with pins stuck in it.”
Powerful statements—but not dangerous.
“Any serious threats?”
“None that keep me awake at night.”
That didn’t answer his question.
“How about any that would keep the average person awake at night?”
“Maybe.” She shrugged and took another swig of water. “After a while in this business, you develop a thick skin. But that”—she pointed her bottle toward the cul-de-sac—“is disturbing.”
At the very least.
“Did you see anyone unfamiliar in the area as you drove in?”
“I didn’t see anyone, period. Most of the residents are young couples. The neighborhood’s deserted during working hours.”
Great.
That diminished the odds of finding someone who could have witnessed the drop-off.
And except in high-end neighborhoods, most residents didn’t have a video component in their home security systems.
But they’d canvass the area anyway. Just in case.
“What are the odds the package is a real bomb?”
At Eve’s question, he shifted his attention back to her. “Low. A homemade bomb could be triggered by an alarm clock, but digital timers are more common these days.”
“What happens if it’s a fake? A prank?”
“We investigate. Planting a hoax bomb isn’t a prank. It’s a felony. Let’s talk about any recent troubling communication you’ve received.”
“It’s all been the usual kind of garbage. None of the comments raised serious red flags.”
“Have you ever contacted law enforcement about any of these hostile messages?”
She rolled her eyes. “If I reported all the nasty notes I got, I’d be on the phone with the police every day. The left preaches tolerance—but only as long as you agree with them. If you don’t, they consider you unenlightened and fair game for their wrath. Sorry to offend if you happen to be of a liberal bent, but that’s how I see it.”
The lady wasn’t shy about speaking her mind.
No wonder she ticked off some of her listeners.
“I’m not offended. Depending on how this plays out, we may want to see any recent malicious communication you’ve received.”
“I’ll give you the contact information for the program director at the station. He and one of the admin people monitor my snail mail and social media accounts. The volume got away from me months ago. Now they just send me any notes they think merit a direct response. They’ll be happy to provide anything you need.”
“Are there any disgruntled listeners you hear from on a regular basis?”
“Some.” She rubbed her thumb over the almost-empty bottle. “Near as I can tell, though, they prefer verbal sparring to bombs.”
“One of them could have decided actions would speak louder than words.”
She flicked a glance at the first responders in the restricted area, faint furrows denting her brow. “I suppose that’s possible.”
“Any particularly controversial programs in the past couple of weeks?”
She huffed out a small snort. “Every program is controversial to some people.”
His phone began to vibrate, and he pulled it off his belt. Sarge—wanting an update, no doubt.
“I have to take this.”
“No worries. I’m not going anywhere. But if I could borrow your cell after you finish your call, I’d appreciate it. I want to tell the station what’s going on, and I left my phone at my neighbor’s house.”
“Give me two minutes.”
He scanned the crowd for a small pocket of quiet. Spotted one behind an ambulance that was pulled up to the curb.
As he walked toward it, he gave Eve Reilly another once-over.
She was watching the activity inside the inner perimeter, clasping the empty water bottle in one hand, her neighbor’s key in the other. Given her calm demeanor, no one would suspect she’d found a possible bomb on her doorstep less than an hour ago.
But he’d felt the tremors in her fingers. Seen the taut cords in her neck when she swigged her water. Heard the slight breathlessness in her voice. Felt the waves of tension rolling off her.
She was putting up a brave front, but she was spooked.
Big time.
As she should be.
Maybe she was used to negative feedback, given the rancor she roused on her show.
But someone had risked a felony charge by putting that package on her porch.
And anyone who was willing to take that kind of chance wanted to do far more damage to Eve Reilly than best her in a verbal sparring match.
2
I APPRECIATE YOUR CONCERN, Doug, but I’m fine.” Eve repositioned the phone against her ear, keeping Brent in sight as she talked to the station’s program director.
“I still can’t believe someone left a bomb at your home.” Shock dulled Doug Whitney’s usual upbeat tone.
“It’s probably a fake.” Shifting away from the reporters massed behind the yellow tape who were calling out questions to every first responder within ten feet, she took a quick inventory of the tall detective.
Athletic physique. Neatly trimmed dark brown hair. Coffee-colored eyes. Powerful shoulders and broad chest beneath a tailored jacket. Authoritative posture that gave him a commanding—and reassuring—presence.
He looked like the kind of guy who would be comfortable wearing a white hat and riding into town to—
“. . . is real?”
Whoops.
She’d lost the thread of her conversation with Doug.
“Sorry.” She turned away from the distracting detective. “It’s noisy here. What did you say?”
“When will they know if the bomb is real?”
“Soon, I hope. But the detective said the odds were low.”
“A major hassle—and scare—nonetheless.” He exhaled. “I’m sorry about this, Eve.”
“Don’t apologize. I’m the one who throws out all those incendiary topics to the masses. Pardon the pun.”