homicide detective had spoken to Dr. Edgar Prentice—founder of the world-renowned Aspen IVF and Genetics Clinic in the mountains. Prentice’s alibi was airtight; he’d been out of state at the time of the murder.
Of course, he’d cover his butt. Prentice would hire someone else to do his dirty work.
On his military cell phone that wouldn’t give away his identity, Blake called the number Eve had given him. Prentice answered immediately. “Who is this?”
“Blake Jantzen. We need to talk.”
“How did you get this number?”
“From Eve.”
“Thank God you’re with her.”
Blake hadn’t expected that response. The old bastard sounded as if he was concerned about Eve. “Why do you say that?”
“I might have inadvertently put her in danger. Stay with her, Blake. Your father would have wanted—”
“Don’t talk to me about my father.” Unless you want to confess to his murder.
“I should have called, should have made it to the funeral. I’m sorry. Sorry for your loss.”
“Where are you?” Blake demanded. “I want to see you.”
“That’s not possible,” Prentice said. “Stay with Eve. Make sure she’s safe.”
The call was disconnected.
Blake stared at his cell phone as if this piece of plastic and circuitry could tell him the truth. Either Prentice was lying to manipulate him or Eve was truly in danger. He couldn’t take chances with her safety.
He ran down the driveway into the cul-de-sac where his father’s station wagon was parked across the street. No time to waste. He started the engine.
Earlier, he’d planted a GPS locator on Eve’s car in case he needed to find her. It’d be easy to follow her route on the hand-held tracking device he took from his pocket. Activating the system, he saw a reassuring blip. She was taking the back road to Boulder, avoiding traffic on the highway. Would she go to the lab where she worked? Or to her home?
His dad’s station wagon wasn’t a high performance vehicle, but after he got out of the burbs, he made good time on the two-lane road that ran parallel to the foothills. He passed a pickup and an SUV.
He never should have let her go, should have insisted that she stay at his house. If anything happened to her.
He passed a sedan that was already going over the speed limit. When he hit Boulder, the traffic slowed him down, but he was within a mile of her location when the tracking device showed that she’d parked.
The car in front of him at the stoplight rolled slowly forward. Blake wanted to honk, but he was back in mellow Colorado where car horns were seldom used. He turned right at the next corner and zipped the last few blocks to Eve’s house.
Her car was parked at the curb in front of a yellow brick bungalow with a long front yard and mature shade trees on either side. Her unkempt shrubbery—spreading juniper and prickly clumps of potentilla—were good for xeriscaping but too plain for his taste. He preferred his mother’s neatly pruned rose garden.
As soon as he opened his car door, he heard a scream.
Chapter Four
Eight minutes ago, Eve had unlocked her front door and entered her house, glad to be home. Her familiar surroundings had greeted her like old, faithful friends. The oversize wingback chair where she did most of her reading had beckoned, and she’d decided to curl up in its cozy embrace and have a cup of tea while her mind wrapped around the complications of being pregnant.
On the way to the kitchen to put on the hot water to boil, she’d patted the back of the comfy sofa with its multicolored throw pillows. She’d passed the round dining-room table.
In the doorway to the kitchen, she froze.
Two men, dressed in suits and neckties, stood between the sink and the refrigerator. Except for their sunglasses, they looked like businessmen at a sales meeting. She desperately wanted to believe that there was a logical reason for them to be here.
Holding her purse in front of her like a shield, she asked, “Who are you? How did you get into my house?”
“The back door was open.”
That was probably true. She often forgot to lock up after leaving food for the feral cats that lived in the alley. Still, an unlocked door didn’t constitute an invitation to enter. “What do you want?”
“Our employer wants to meet with you.”
Were they talking about Prentice? “Who do you work for?”
With a cool smile, the taller man took a step toward her. If he lunged, he could grab her easily. That was when the reality of the situation hit her. These men were a threat.
“It’s all right,” he reassured her. “We aren’t going to hurt you.”
Liar! She was in severe danger, and she knew it. Her panicked instincts told her to run, but the men were bigger than she was. Faster. Stronger.
She had to be smarter.
Her mind cleared. She saw the problem as a geometric equation. Her kitchen was a rectangle with the two men in the center. She stood one step inside the doorway. To her left was a table and chairs. To her right, a cabinet jutted into the room. The distance between the corner of the cabinet and the corner of the kitchen table was approximately three feet. If she could block that space, she’d create an obstacle which would slow their pursuit and allow her to escape.
“Come with us, Eve.” The tall man spoke in silky tones. “Everything will be explained to your satisfaction.”
It took all her self-control to play along with his false civility. “This isn’t convenient. Perhaps your employer could call me and make an appointment.”
The second man drew a gun from a holster inside his jacket. “Enough playing around. Get over here.”
A gun. Oh, God, he had a gun. “Don’t shoot me.”
Abruptly, she raised one hand over her head. When she lifted the other hand, she swung her arm wide. The tall man was forced to step back or be smacked by her purse. As he shifted his weight, she dropped both hands and yanked a chair from the table to block the three-foot space.
She pivoted and ran. Though she hadn’t planned to scream, she heard herself wailing like a siren. Logic told her that she couldn’t go faster than a bullet. Would they start shooting? Were they coming after her? She whipped open the front door—fortunately unlocked—and dashed outside. One step from the front stoop, she ran smack into Blake.
Though she was sprinting at full speed, she didn’t knock him over. He staggered as he absorbed her velocity. “Are you all right?”
“Two men. One has a gun,” she blurted. “We’ve got to get away.”
He reacted forcefully. His left arm wrapped around her midsection, and he yanked her along with him. They were moving back toward the front door. Wrong way! They should be fleeing.
“He has a gun,” she repeated.
“Heard you the first time.”
His calm tone reminded her that he was a commando— specially trained to face danger. She could trust him. Though her pulse pounded and her nerve endings sizzled with fear, she forced herself to stand beside him on the porch instead of running willy-nilly toward her car. “What’s next?” she asked.
“Stay.”
“You mean, stay here?” She pointed to the concrete of the stoop. “Right here?”
Ignoring her, he was