Would he take his suspicions to the police?

And if he did, what would that do to her career—and her ambitions?

Despite the warmth in the air, a cold chill raced through her.

Gritting her teeth, she shook it off.

Even if Doug did mention his misgivings to the case detective—and the police decided to investigate—their efforts would come to nothing. If there was any evidence to be found for any of the incidents that had occurred with Eve, it would have surfaced by now.

There was no reason to worry.

She was safe—and so were her ambitions.

Knock, knock.

At the hard rapping on her back door, Eve jerked away from the floor buffer she’d just turned off in the living room and swiveled toward the kitchen.

Calm down, Eve. If someone was up to no good, they wouldn’t be knocking on your door.

Gulping a steadying breath, she stripped off her dust mask and ducked around the plastic barrier taped over the opening to the foyer that was supposed to contain the mess. Heart still hammering, she hurried toward the back of the house.

As she approached the door and her neighbor waved at her through the window, her pulse slowed.

After wiping her hands on her jean cutoffs, she unlocked and opened the door. “Hi, Olivia. I’d invite you in, but the house is a dust bowl.” She slipped outside.

“My.” The woman gave her a once-over. “Have you been cleaning out your attic?”

“Worse. Refinishing floors. A job not for the faint of heart, let me tell you.”

“I don’t mean to interrupt such an ambitious enterprise—but I baked chocolate chip pecan cookies and brought you a few.” The woman lifted a plate covered with plastic wrap. “They came out of the oven ten minutes ago.”

“Wow.” Eve took the home-baked goodies and breathed in the scent seeping through the plastic. “These smell delicious. You’re going to spoil me.”

Olivia waved the comment aside. “An occasional sweet-tooth indulgence never spoiled anyone.”

“In that case—I’ll eat one . . . or two . . . or three.” She grinned. “If I get us each a soda, would you sit with me for a few minutes while I take a break and put a dent in these?” She indicated the plate.

“I’d be delighted. The only item on my afternoon schedule is a few soaps, and I’d much rather visit with my famous neighbor.”

Eve snorted. “Hardly famous.”

“But you’re getting there. You keep at it, you’ll be up there with that Russ Limbo everyone talks about.”

Not likely—but it was a kind sentiment . . . even if Olivia wouldn’t know Rush Limbaugh from the current teenage heartthrob. The woman was much more conversant about vintage movies than current events.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Olivia patted her arm. “I may be old, but I can recognize talent.”

“Have a seat while I get those sodas.”