Point of Danger

by Irene Hannon

  Fingers twitching, Buzz again ran his hand over the outlines of the Glock and took a steadying breath.

  Soon, baby.

  Soon.

  24

  TWO STEPS into Olivia’s basement office, Brent came to an abrupt halt. No wonder the patrol officers had sent for reinforcements.

  A high-end laptop in screensaver mode was open on the desk, a large monitor beside it. Three burner phones were lined up on the faux wood surface, within reaching distance of the swivel chair. A tablet next to the phones was filled with notations in some sort of shorthand. Four filing cabinets lined one wall. A flat-screen TV was tuned to CNN, the sound muted. An oversized map of the United States filled a significant portion of another wall, pins with colored heads stuck in various cities around the country.

  “Wow.” It was all he could manage.

  “Yeah.” Colin completed his own three-sixty perusal. “This place looks like command central. Who is this woman?”

  “I have no idea—but she’s not the sweet, tech-challenged senior citizen Eve thinks she is.” He motioned toward several photos lying on the desk. “Those are pretty clear evidence that this space isn’t being used to manage investments or run an eBay business.”

  “Yeah.” Colin moved toward the shots that featured black bloc protestors in full demonstration mode, then motioned toward a faded, framed photo on the desk of a twentysomething jeans-clad guy sporting a full beard and mustache, with a bandanna tied around his long hair. “I wonder who that is?”

  “No idea.” Brent scanned the image. The man was holding a hand-lettered placard that said “Stop the War.” In the crowd behind him, similarly dressed young people were toting signs referencing Vietnam. “But if we can ID him, that could answer a lot of questions.” He pulled out his cell and snapped a photo of the framed picture. “We need a warrant.”

  “Not happening without grounds. We can’t search someone’s house or open an investigation because of an affiliation with Antifa. That isn’t illegal. There has to be evidence of a crime, threat of force, or violence.”

  “I know that.” Unfortunately. “But if Olivia is as deep into Antifa as those photos suggest, she has reason to hate Eve based on ideology—and many of the zealots affiliated with that movement have no compunction about the use of violence to achieve their ends.”

  “I hear you. But it’s not illegal to support organizations involved in protest activities. Our hands are tied unless their actions turn violent.”

  “There have already been threats and violence against Eve.”

  “Perpetrated by Steve Jackson, per your young witness.”

  “I can only link him to two of the four incidents—and the most recent one occurred while he was out of commission at the hospital. Who had easier access to leave that last note Eve found than her neighbor?”

  “But to what end?”

  “She may have seen the bomb scare and related incidents as an opportunity for someone in the group to silence Eve without taking the fall for it. As a chance to pin it on someone else.” Brent raked his fingers through his hair. “We have to get that warrant.”

  Colin eyed the stacks of material on the desk. “I don’t disagree—but unless we can find a direct connection between Olivia and Eve, no judge will—” He frowned. Leaned closer to one of the stacks. “I think we may have our link. Look at this.”

  Brent joined him. It took a few seconds to identify the location of the aerial photo—but the instant he did, his stomach bottomed out. “That’s the park where the Young Republicans group is holding its picnic . . . and where Eve is speaking. Check out the time at the top.” He pointed to a handwritten notation of 1:00 p.m. “That’s when her speech starts.”

  “That could be enough to get us our warrant.”

  It better be.

  Because every instinct in his body was blaring a red alert.

  “Why don’t you call Sarge about the warrant while I try to reach Eve—and see if he’ll put security on her.”

  “You got it.” Colin pulled out his phone.

  Brent thumbed in her number. “Tell him she’s scheduled to speak at one o’clock. And County should give someone from the Republican group a heads-up that they may have to alter their scheduled programming. Alert him I also sent that photo I took. Facial recognition software may be able to flag someone in the database.”

  “It’s an old photo.” Colin gave it a doubtful scrutiny.

  “Can’t hurt to try.”

  “I’m on it.”

  While Colin exited the room to place his call, Brent punched in Eve’s number.

  After four rings, it rolled to voicemail.

  He tried texting her.

  No response.

  She was probably tied up at the meet and greet, shaking hands. Her phone must be on silent mode.

  Brent blew out a breath.

  Headquarters would get through to someone on site, and given the large police presence at the picnic there shouldn’t be an issue assigning a security detail to her for the duration of the event.

  But he wanted to talk to her.

  Scratch that.

  He wanted to be there with her.

  The officers assigned to her would do their best, but they didn’t have a vested interest in keeping her safe. Their blood wouldn’t run cold at the mere thought she could be in danger. Fear wouldn’t twist their stomachs into a knot. Their pulse wouldn’t pound like a jackhammer or—

  Wait.

  Brent squinted at the aerial shot on Olivia’s desk and massaged his temple.

  Would a man whose heart was atrophied experience all those emotions?

  No.

  Meaning Eve had been right during their discussion a week ago. There wasn’t a thing wrong with his heart.

  And despite his concerns about subjecting a woman he loved to the risks and rigors of his job, maybe Adam’s take on that score was correct. Maybe not all women would cave in the face of crisis, as Karen had.

  As for Colin’s more recent advice—to stop overthinking the issue, let people do what they were called to do and put the rest in God’s hands—that was also astute.

  The communication piece might still be a stumbling block—but he could work on that. He would work on that. Finding the words to tell Eve how he felt shouldn’t be an insurmountable challenge if he could let go of the fear.

  Too bad it had taken a crisis for him to arrive at that insight.

  But assuming they could foil whatever plans had been cooked up in this basement command center, he wasn’t letting another day pass without—

  “Sarge is going to work this hard.” Colin strode back into the room. “You talk to Eve?”

  He had to forcibly shift gears. “No. She must have turned off her cell during the appearance.”

  “Not a problem. Sarge is assigning several of the on-site patrol officers to stick with her. He’s also got people digging into Olivia’s background. We should do the same while we wait for the all clear to dive in here.”

  “Does Sarge think there will be any issue with the warrant?”

  “Not in view of the link between Eve and Olivia, the tactical setup here—including the map of the park—and the threats Eve’s been receiving. Plus, there could be a public safety issue with today’s event.”

  “Okay.”

  But it wasn’t. Not really.

  Though his job demanded he stay here, he wanted to be with Eve.

  Now.

  “I also asked Sarge to have one of the officers there tell Eve to give you a call if you hadn’t gotten through.” Colin gave him a one-sided grin.

  “Thanks.”

  “Happy to do it. Did you bring your laptop?”

  “Yeah. It’s in the car.”

  “Mine too. Let’s grab them and see what we can unearth on Olivia Macie. We can use our phones as a hotspot.”

  With a clipped nod, Brent followed him out.

  Waiting for confirmation that a warrant was in process was beyond frustrating.
>
  But in the interim, perhaps they could pull some data on Olivia that would explain why a brownie-baking, soap-opera-watching senior would be running what appeared to be an Antifa command center in her basement.

  “Ms. Reilly . . . may I spirit you away for lunch?”

  At the touch on her arm, Eve excused herself from the conversation she was having with one of the Young Republicans during the meet and greet and swiveled toward the president of the group. “Of course.”

  In truth, though, eating before a major speech was never her preference—less so with news vans parked nearby. The flutter of nerves in her stomach was a definite appetite killer.

  Strange how she was perfectly comfortable spouting off to tens of thousands of people from a studio, but in front of a couple hundred warm bodies she always had to fight a slight but unnerving case of stage fright.

  The man motioned her toward the tent that had been erected to protect the sound equipment for the speeches in case of inclement weather, and she arched an eyebrow. The sun was shining, and the food was set up near the picnic pavilions, where she assumed they’d all be eating lunch.

  He took her arm, leaning closer as they walked. “I’ve just been alerted that law enforcement is ratcheting up security. The officer in charge asked us to gather in the tent for a briefing.”

  Her pulse faltered. This was exactly what Brent had feared would happen.

  As they approached the tent, two uniformed officers lowered the sides in one corner near a table, then circled around to the outside and assumed sentry duty. Two other officers took up positions inside but facing away from the table.

  All four directions were being covered.

  Whatever was going on must be big.

  Eve took a deep breath as she sank into a chair at the table, where two other members of the organization’s board were already seated.

  Another police officer—this one higher ranking, if she was reading his uniform insignia correctly—joined them.

  “Lieutenant Anderson.” He extended his hand to each of them and claimed a chair. “I want to bring you up to speed on the situation here.”

  Eve listened as the man described the growing Antifa presence in a nearby parking lot—and mentioned new intel that suggested the protestors could have more planned than mere marching.

  “What kind of intel?” The president of the group narrowed his eyes.

  “I’m not at liberty to discuss that. We’re waiting for a warrant to give us the green light to search a suspicious area. It was a chance discovery that raises the threat level here significantly.”

  “Are you suggesting we shut the event down?”

  “That’s your call—but I would advise that, at a minimum, you delay your afternoon program while we bring in additional officers and continue to assess the intel coming in. We’ll also put tighter security on your keynote speaker in the interim.”

  Now it was Eve’s turn to furrow her brow. Was the Antifa presence here related to her—and the threats she’d been receiving?

  “We don’t want to put anyone in danger—our speakers, the audience, or any of the innocent people in the park.” The president glanced at his fellow board members, who nodded their agreement. “If we have to shut this down, we will.”

  “But then the Antifa people win.” Eve’s blood began to boil, as it always did when she was confronted with efforts to undermine the free speech that was a foundation of American society. “I can live with shouting and picketing, if that’s all we’re talking about. Or are you thinking this could get violent?”

  “Unknown.” The lieutenant folded his hands on the table. “Most of the Antifa folks claim they prefer peaceful protests—but we’ve all seen how these kinds of situations can degenerate. As I said, delaying the program would be wise at this point, until we know more.”

  “We can do that,” the president confirmed.

  “I’ll have the officers circulate in the crowd and make that announcement quietly. Let’s try to keep Antifa off balance as long as we can. We should have new information soon that will give us further direction.”

  “That’s fine with us.” Again, the president checked with the other board members, who murmured their assent.

  The lieutenant rose. “Ms. Reilly, I was instructed to have you call Detective Lange. I understand you have his number.”

  “Yes.” She stood too.

  “May I ask that you remain here for the time being? I’m sure these folks would be happy to give you privacy.”

  The president and his cohorts took the cue and stood at once. “We’ll mingle too and help spread the word among our members. And Ms. Reilly—given the circumstances, we fully understand if you choose to withdraw from the speaker lineup.”

  Not in her plans—unless the situation deteriorated further.

  “Let’s play it by ear for now.”

  She sat again, pulled out her cell, and turned it back on as the corner of the tent emptied—except for the four officers forming a perimeter around her.

  Brent answered on the first ring—and his greeting did nothing to reassure her.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Fine. We just had a briefing from a lieutenant—such as it was. He just alluded to an increased threat level and asked the organizers to delay the program. I also have armed, uniformed officers stationed in close proximity. What’s going on?”

  “Are you sitting down?”

  “Yes.”

  “We’re beginning to think Olivia Macie is the second person who had you in their sights.”

  Eve’s jaw dropped. “Wait. Repeat that.”

  “You heard me correctly. Your neighbor appears to be a strong person of interest.”

  She stared at the shadows of the officers on the other side of the tent flaps as Brent filled her in on what they’d found in her neighbor’s basement.

  But the connection wasn’t computing.

  Olivia . . . Antifa?

  Bizarre.

  She waited to speak until he finished. “I’m reeling.”

  “So are we. While we were in her office, we found a framed photo of a young man that appears to be from the midsixties, early seventies. It was taken at a Vietnam War protest. Did she by chance ever mention anyone from her past who had been important to her?”

  “No. She never mentioned anyone, period. I don’t think she had a family, other than her husband—and he died twenty years ago.”

  “That’s what I figured, in view of what you told the responding officer this morning. We’re waiting for word that the warrant’s a go to dig in here. Has your speech been delayed?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Stick close to your armed guards until we know more—unless you’re willing to cancel the speech?”

  “I’d rather not unless you uncover a tangible threat. It’s the keynote address. Besides, backing down to intimidation tactics goes against my grain. These groups spout free speech, yet they do their best to shut down voices that don’t agree with them. It doesn’t make sense.”

  “I think their tactics fall under the any-means-to-an-end philosophy—whether those means are logical or not. Keep your phone on. As soon as I know more, I’ll give you a call.”

  “Thanks.”

  Several seconds of silence ticked by—but Brent made no attempt to sever the connection.

  Curious.

  Eve waited him out.

  “Listen . . . as soon as this situation is resolved, we have to talk.”

  Not what she’d expected—and it was impossible to tell from his tone whether his comment was good news or bad.

  “About us?”

  “Yes.” A voice spoke in the background on Brent’s end. “I have to go. We have tons of work to do in a very short time. Be careful, and I’ll call you soon.”

  The temptation to ask a few follow-up questions was strong—but the man was super busy. She’d have to wait.

  “No worries. I’m fine.” She managed to maintain an upbeat inflection. “Go do y
our job.”

  As the line went dead, however—and she canvassed the four police officers assigned to keep her safe—a new spate of nerves kicked in. They were guarding her as a result of evidence the police had found in Olivia’s basement.

  But why would such a sweet woman be involved with an anarchist group like Antifa? And how could someone who’d been so nice and thoughtful in person be masterminding a plot against the neighbor she’d welcomed with open arms?

  Was the image Olivia presented to the world nothing more than a façade? A cover for nefarious activities?

  The whole notion was surreal.

  Yet it must have serious credence if the police were on full alert and a security detail had been assigned to her.

  Eve drew in a lungful of air. Slowly let it out. Sitting around waiting for news wasn’t going to calm her. Keeping busy would.

  But doing what?

  Jiggling her foot, she watched the board members circulate through the picnickers outside the tent as they passed the word about the security alert. Expressions ranged from startled to solemn to nervous.

  Understandable.

  It was one thing to read about Antifa and activist gatherings on the news. It was another thing entirely to be in the midst of one.

  She pulled out her cell and opened her browser. Brent and his colleagues would have access to much more detailed intel on Olivia than she could pull up by surfing the net—but a search would keep her occupied.

  And while she was browsing, it wouldn’t hurt to say a few prayers that Brent’s team would get a warrant fast and find answers before the Antifa crowd waiting nearby got impatient with the delay in the afternoon program and decided to forge ahead with its mission.

  Whatever that was.

  25

  IF THIS WAS SUPPOSED to be a joke, he wasn’t laughing.

  Steve clamped his lips together, surveyed the desolate area around the abandoned railway bridge, and glowered at the digital clock on the dashboard of his rental car.

  One-ten.

  Apparently he’d been lured here under false pretenses.

  Given that the anonymous caller who’d promised to meet him with helpful evidence had threatened to leave if he wasn’t here precisely at one, the odds were no one was going to come forward with a silver bullet to help him beat the rap hanging over his head.