“But it couldn’t live without the mother—and she ought to have the right to decide what to do with it.”

“You mean whether to carry her baby to term—or kill it?”

“Kill is a harsh word.”

“So is abortion.” Eve rested her elbows on the table in front of her and linked her fingers. “You know, in discussions on this topic I always hear about the rights of women—but who watches out for the rights of the unborn? Why do we treat babies in the womb differently than babies who’ve been born? Have we as a society decided that the most vulnerable among us aren’t worth protecting? And who’s next on the hit list? The elderly? The disabled? Anyone who’s not productive as defined by the self-proclaimed enlightened members of our so-called civilized society? Let’s talk about this a little more.”

As Eve launched into one of the subjects that was near and dear to her heart, an awareness of Brent’s proximity simmered in the back of her mind.

But when it came to the causes she believed in, not even a tall, dark, and handsome detective waiting in the sound booth could distract her from her message.

No wonder Eve Reilly raised hackles.

As Brent listened to her conversation with the caller and watched the gestures, body language, and facial expressions the radio audience wasn’t privy to, one thing became crystal clear.

This woman was passionate about what she believed—and she wasn’t afraid to tackle hard topics. Nor was she afraid to take a stand that was unpopular in many circles.

A stand that, in this case, she was defending with absolute conviction and rational, hard-to-refute arguments.

Her response might be impassioned, but it was also reasoned and fact-based.

In the end, she demolished the hapless caller—but she did it respectfully and civilly, without ever resorting to belittling or dismissive language.

Quite a way to end the morning show.

Except . . . she turned toward the sound booth and held up her index finger.

“She’s taking one more call.” Ryan adjusted his headphones as he spoke over his shoulder.

Eve pressed a button on the console in front of her. “Good morning. I don’t see any ID on my monitor. With whom am I speaking?”

“My name’s Andrew.”

“Welcome, Andrew. We’ve got time for one more quick question or comment. What’s on your mind today?”

“I have a question.” The man’s voice had an odd, sort of disembodied quality to it.

Brent’s antennas went up.

“Shoot.”

“You seem pretty conservative in your opinions and values.”

“Guilty as charged—and no apologies. What’s your question?”

“Given the moral high ground you advocate, I wondered how you justified dating a married man eight years ago, while you were a high school teacher. Don’t you think that’s inconsistent with the image you present to your listeners?”