“All of the above, I expect.” She washed down the remains of her last cookie. “It’s the annual barbecue for a Young Republicans group. The members fall into all those categories.”

“You are one busy lady.”

“I love my work—and I like doing my part to protect the values that built this country.”

Olivia nodded. “It’s important to stand up for what you believe—no matter the risk.”

“I agree.”

“Well . . .” The older woman pushed herself to her feet. “I should be off. You have to get back to your floor job.”

“And prepare for tomorrow’s radio program.” She rose too. “Thank you again for the cookies. I can assure you they won’t last long.”

“I’ll whip up another batch soon. Don’t work too hard.” Olivia patted her arm and crossed the deck.

“Would you like an extra arm to lean on while you go down the steps?” Eve knew the answer before her spry neighbor responded.

“I’m fine.” She started down. “The doctor’s after me to use a cane, but I’m resisting. These legs may not be as strong as they once were, but they get me where I have to go without any propping up.”

Eve waited until Olivia crossed the lawn and disappeared onto her patio, then wandered back inside, locking the door behind her.

Quiet descended.

Too much quiet.

It was a shame she didn’t have an excuse to call Brent for an update.

But he’d left one on her voicemail yesterday, while her cell was stowed in a locker during spinning class—and it had been both detailed and concise. The CSU tech had found a few dark hairs clumped beside her car, and Brent had promised to call her if they yielded any useful information. He hadn’t asked about the status of the tire situation, nor offered to drive her to the school parking lot to retrieve her car, so she’d hitched a ride in the mechanic’s truck.

Sighing, she set the plate of cookies on the counter and tossed the two empty soft drink cans into the recycle bin.

Why, oh why, had he called during her class?

Eve trudged back to the living room, slipped on the dust mask, and flipped the switch on the buffer.

But her mind wasn’t on the task at hand. It was busy trying to manufacture a reason to call Brent.

Could she fill him in on her conversation yesterday with the security firm he’d recommended, perhaps? Was that a sufficient excuse?

No.

Give it up, Eve.

Grasping the handle on the buffer, she resumed the tedious chore of moving the piece of equipment from side to side, following the grain. The old finish turned to powder beneath it, making it easy to see where to move next.

Too bad the course to follow with Brent wasn’t as obvious.

Nevertheless, the basics were clear.