“I gave a talk tonight, remember?” If she dodged the query, maybe her sister would drop the subject. “I only got home twenty minutes ago.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

No, it didn’t.

And Grace was as tenacious as ever.

“I’ll explain later.”

Three beats ticked by.

“Is your detective there?”

Eve blinked. How in the world had her sister come to that conclusion?

No matter. She was stuck. Short of an outright lie, there was nothing to do except admit the truth.

“Yes . . . on official business.” Sort of.

“Has there been another attack?” Grace’s tone sharpened.

“Yes—but nothing physical. It was indirect, like the other two. I’ll explain everything when I call you back.”

“Is the detective still questioning you?”

More like baring his soul—unless this ill-timed call had jinxed everything.

“We’re finishing up.”

“So you’ll call me back soon?”

“As soon as I can.” She cracked the bedroom door and cocked her ear. A quiet clunk suggested Brent had set his mug down—meaning he’d remained at the table.

“Fine. I’ll let you go. But one piece of advice. Unless you want him to disappear forever after this case is over, try to give him some indication you’re interested.”

Already done. Inviting the man in for coffee and cake was about as clear as she could make her interest at this point.

But her sister didn’t have to know that.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Don’t just keep it in mind. Spit the words out.”

“I don’t think spitting will endear me to him.”

“Very funny. I’ll be waiting for your call—and a full report.”

The line went dead.

And none too soon.

Phone in hand, Eve hurried back to the kitchen. “Sorry about that. It was my sister.”

“Grace?”

“Mmm-hmm.” She retook her seat. Brent had eaten several bites of his cake while she was gone, and his mug was half empty. “If you want a refill, let me know.”

“I’m fine for now.” He took another sip, and one side of his mouth flexed up. “I like your ringtone. It suits you.”

“Cate says it’s indicative of my stubborn streak.”

“I meant it as a compliment.”

“Thanks. I’m impressed you recognized it.”

“I’m a fan of oldies but goodies.” He forked a piece of cake. “Here’s the name of a reputable tire service, as promised.” He slid a face-down business card toward her, the information jotted on the back.

The conversation had degenerated to ringtones, music, and flat tires.

Drat.

He wasn’t going to pick up the discussion where they’d left off.

But the choice about whether to continue was his, and she had to respect his privacy—despite the dozen questions in her mind clamoring for air time.

“I appreciate the recommendation.” She moved the card aside, away from the sticky icing.