Point of Danger

by Irene Hannon

Neither would he.

  But while Suds probably had more party plans in mind, he had important work to do.

  All at once, his fingers began to tingle—and Buzz froze. What was with the sudden case of nerves? He was prepared for the task ahead. Everything would be fine.

  He took a calming breath and deposited the last of his painting paraphernalia in the truck. “Enjoy your beer.”

  “Count on it.” Suds smacked his lips.

  With a lift of his hand, Buzz hurried to his car, slid behind the wheel, and headed home.

  Although his stomach began growling as he parked in front of his apartment and ascended the stairs to his second-floor unit, food could wait.

  A final gear inspection was his top priority this evening. Everything should be in order, but in case he’d missed an item, it would be helpful to identify it tonight. Running around tomorrow after work to handle a last-minute equipment glitch would be distracting. He wanted nothing on his mind after tonight but the big event.

  Buzz dropped his lunch pail on the counter in the kitchen, continued to his bedroom, and pulled out his list. One by one, he laid the items on the bed, ending with the black hood that had seen its share of marches and demonstrations.

  But never had it been as critical as it would be this weekend.

  He gave the clothing and equipment one final survey. Double-checked it against his list. Nodded. Come Saturday, he’d be ready to roll.

  Now he could relax for the evening. Eat dinner, take a shower, read.

  And while his high school acquaintances were wasting their weekend with babes and booze, he’d be making an important contribution to the cause. One he’d never get credit for—but that was okay. The hood would keep him out of jail so he could continue the good fight.

  Besides, this wasn’t about one man’s glory. It was about securing power for everyone.

  He strolled toward the kitchen, a hum of excitement thrumming through his veins. One person would know what he’d done, though—and if he pulled this off, more responsibilities would come his way. More chances to contribute on a large scale. All he had to do was show up, stay cool, and wait for the perfect moment.

  Ten seconds later, in the chaos that followed, he’d disappear into the crowd.

  And there would be one less voice proclaiming the greatness of America’s corrupt social, economic, and political system.

  “Thanks for being such a trouper all week.” Eve glanced at Brent as he swung the car onto her cul-de-sac. “Getting up at the crack of dawn isn’t for the fainthearted.”

  “It wasn’t an issue. I’ve put in a fair number of odd hours during my career.” He slowed as he approached her driveway. “Now that Friday’s here, let’s talk about the weekend.”

  Drat.

  She’d been hoping he wouldn’t ask about her plans. Her Saturday schedule wasn’t going to thrill him—and she was done imposing on him for bodyguard duty. But there was no avoiding his question.

  “I’m giving a speech tomorrow.”

  He frowned. “Why didn’t I know about this until now?”

  “Because it’s no big deal. Everything’s been normal all week. Whoever left that last note must have decided not to take any further action—and as you told me yourself, Steve won’t try anything else or his lawyer will have a fit. I feel perfectly safe.”

  A bit of a stretch . . . but she wasn’t going to walk around in fear either. She had a life to live—and commitments to keep.

  “Tell me about the speech. Who, what, when, where, why.” He pulled into her driveway and set the brake.

  “Wow. You got very official on me all of a sudden.” She grinned and nudged him with her elbow.

  He didn’t smile back. “Just give me the details.”

  “Fine.” In staccato fashion, she rattled off the particulars about the Young Republicans event and her keynote address.

  A muscle clenched in Brent’s jaw, and he closed his eyes. “That is not what I wanted to hear.”

  “Why? What’s going on?”

  He looked at her. “Did you know there could be an Antifa presence at that gathering?”

  “Yes. The president of the group called to tell me he’d been alerted to that possibility. I wasn’t thrilled, but he said they were beefing up security. They’re even sending a car for me. They’ll whisk me in, I’ll do my thing, they’ll whisk me out. Piece of cake. Otherwise I would have called Phoenix.”

  Brent’s taut features said he wasn’t buying her assurance—and his next comment told her why. “County is gearing up for trouble.”

  Despite a sudden kink in her stomach, she did her best to maintain a placid expression. “What kind of trouble?”

  “We don’t know. But that’s a volatile, unpredictable group. There will be a large law enforcement presence.”

  “As a precaution, right? There haven’t been real threats of disruption, have there?”

  “Antifa doesn’t always tip its hand. FBI intel suggests quite a few of the groups aligned with the movement have encouraged members from our region to attend. It’s being touted on their websites and message boards. What will happen after they all convene is anyone’s guess.” The twin furrows on his brow deepened. “Have you ever had any direct contact through your show or on your blog with anyone who’s identified themselves as a member?”

  “No—but many of my critics could fall into that camp. I stand for everything they abhor. Left to their own devices, they’d abolish the government and Constitution, which they believe are inherently racist. They’d do away with capitalism because they think it enslaves people. And they’re convinced our political system is fundamentally corrupt.”

  “They’re also not afraid to engage in violence or property destruction to achieve their goals—and some have no compunction about killing people who defend the system. They think of it as self-defense for the world. That’s why the FBI classifies their activities as domestic terrorism.”

  “I understand all that.”

  “Yet you didn’t think it was important to mention to me that you were speaking at an event where they may have a strong presence?”

  “The president of the group has me covered—and I’m not going to hijack your weekend. You’ve already gone above and beyond with my case.”

  His eyes narrowed. “What time is the speech?”

  “One o’clock.”

  “When are they picking you up?”

  “Ten. There’s a private meet and greet at eleven, followed by lunch, then the speech. I should be home by two-thirty.”

  “I’ll join the motorcade. I’d say cancel the car, but let’s leave it in case I get called in.”

  Her heart warmed—but her independent streak reared its head. “Brent, I don’t want you to—”

  “Eve.” He killed the engine and turned to her. “Humor me. Other than an early run with Adam, my Saturday is open. If I’m not with you, I’ll be at home worrying.”

  After a beat, she sighed. How could she refuse after that admission? “Fine. I accept—if you’ll let me treat you to Starbucks afterward.”

  “Not necessary.”

  “I’ll be in the mood for a Frappuccino, and I hate to drink alone.”

  He cocked his head. “Is it a deal breaker on me riding shotgun if I turn down your invitation?”

  “Yes.”

  One side of his mouth twitched. “You drive a hard bargain.”

  “Seems like a fair arrangement to me—I get a bodyguard, we both get a treat. Are you in?”

  “Yeah. I’m in.” He pulled his key out of the ignition. “I also have another piece of news for you. During your program I got word the story’s about to break on Jackson. His attorney tried to contain it as long as he could, but the news hounds sniffed it out. Headquarters got a call this morning from two media outlets to confirm. A brief written statement will be released within the hour.”

  “There’s no downside to that, is there?”

  “Not from your standpoint. In fact, there may be an u
pside. This may deter your latest harasser. If he was coasting on Jackson’s coattails, trying to get a vicarious thrill, that gig is up. He knows if he strikes again we’ll be searching for another suspect.”

  “I’ll take that as a very positive way to end the week. And it would also suggest there’s less justification than ever for you to spend your Saturday afternoon listening to a boring speech. The danger may be past.” She released her seat belt.

  “May be isn’t good enough. I’m not letting my guard down until I have definitive proof this is over. Sit tight while I get your door.”

  He slid out of the car without waiting for her to respond. After giving the neighborhood a practiced sweep while he circled the Taurus, he pulled her door open.

  Eve joined him on the pavement. “I could get used to this curb service.”

  “Anytime.” He hitched up one corner of his mouth and took her arm as they walked to her door. “What’s on your calendar for the rest of the day?”

  “Catch up on my blog, practice my speech, do a load of laundry.” She felt around in her purse for her keys.

  “So you’re not venturing out anywhere?”

  “No.”

  He waited while she opened her door. “I’ll call you tonight.”

  “I’d like that.” She dropped her key back in her purse but didn’t enter. Now that her case appeared to be waning, why postpone her dinner-for-two invitation? “I’m planning to make moussaka next weekend. Assuming all remains quiet, will you join me? It’s my mom’s recipe, and she was a fantastic cook.”

  Despite the obvious conflict in his eyes, his tone was definitive. “We’ve already had this discussion. I’m not the best guy for you, Eve. For any woman.”

  “I disagree. You may believe that’s true, but—”

  He reached past her, twisted the knob, and pushed the door open.

  Her alarm began beeping.

  “If you don’t shut that off fast, you’ll have a patrol car barreling down your street.”

  She expelled a breath. “I can’t believe you did that. This conversation isn’t over, you know.”

  “It is for today.”

  “Chicken.”

  “Sticks and stones . . .” He gave her a gentle push toward the house. “I’ll talk to you later.”

  Making no attempt to hide her annoyance, she swiveled around, shut the door in his face, and scurried toward the kitchen.

  She disarmed the alarm with four seconds to spare and dashed back to the front door. Only Brent’s taillights were visible in the distance.

  Well, shoot. Getting the man to talk about their relationship was going to be a challenge.

  But challenges had never daunted Eve Reilly. So over their Frappuccinos after her speech tomorrow, she’d tackle this one head-on.

  Because after almost a week of normalcy, she’d be willing to bet that whoever had put her in his sights last weekend would cease and desist once the suspicions about Steve became public knowledge—if he hadn’t already.

  After all, as Brent had noted, why would someone who was using Steve as a cover continue to bother her knowing that would put them on law enforcement’s radar? Only a person with a far more sinister intent than Meg’s husband had had would risk exposure by persisting in his harassment.

  And the odds of that had to be small.

  Didn’t they?

  Al

  Fri., Sept. 14, 12:10 p.m.

  Did u c news re Jackson?

  Dan

  Fri., Sept. 14, 12:11 p.m.

  Yes. Following story.

  Al

  Fri., Sept. 14, 12:11 p.m.

  We waited 2 long.

  Dan

  Fri., Sept. 14, 12:12 p.m.

  No. Working on plan. U will b covered.

  Al

  Fri., Sept. 14, 12:12 p.m.

  How?

  Al

  Fri., Sept. 14, 12:15 p.m.

  U there?

  Al

  Fri., Sept. 14, 12:18 p.m.

  U still there?

  Dan

  Fri., Sept. 14, 12:20 p.m.

  Will make sure Jackson has no alibi. Carry on as planned.

  22

  YOU GOT THE SHORT STRAW for this one too, I see.”

  As Colin greeted him, Brent finished signing the crime scene log, ducked under the police tape, and joined his colleague in front of the abandoned warehouse. “Yeah—and a murder investigation wasn’t in my Friday afternoon plans.”

  “I doubt it was in his, either.” Colin hooked a thumb toward the tarp-covered body visible a few yards inside the door.

  Right.

  Perspective check.

  “What do we know?”

  “Only what the responding officer observed.”

  Brent listened as Colin filled him in, sifting through the facts. “Could be a drug deal gone bad.”

  “Has all the earmarks. We’ll know more after Hank weighs in.” He motioned to a Crime Scene Unit van executing a fast left into the parking lot with a slight screech of tires.

  “How do you know that’s Hank?” Brent squinted at the windshield, but the glare hid the driver’s identity.

  “He’s a lousy driver. Always takes his corners too sharp. He also waits until the last second to hit the brakes.”

  As if on cue, a squeal pierced the air as the van came to an abrupt halt.

  A few moments later Hank exited the vehicle, marched over, and gave them both a visual frisk. “You two didn’t mess with my scene, did you?”

  “Wouldn’t think of it.” Colin folded his arms, his tone mild.

  “Right.” The CSU tech snorted, his unruly gray hair flapping in the breeze. As Brent transferred his weight from one foot to the other, Hank turned his attention to him. “Do I know you?”

  “Brent Lange.” He held out his hand. “Detective now, but patrol for most of my career.”

  “Knew I’d seen you around.” He gave him a firm shake. “In case Colin didn’t fill you in, I don’t like interlopers at my crime scenes.”

  The man was living up to his reputation as brusque, eccentric—and territorial.

  “Understood.”

  “You can look, but don’t touch.”

  “Got it.”

  “Good.” Hank gave the scene a sweep. “Lacey here yet?”

  “No.” Colin jumped back in. “Sarge said she was tied up at another scene but should be here within the hour.”

  “Can’t do much around the body until the medical examiner’s office weighs in.” Hank shouldered past them, grumbling under his breath.

  Colin watched the tech disappear into the warehouse and rolled his eyes. “Talk about a curmudgeon.”

  “I only saw him from a distance as a patrol officer—but I heard he was top-notch at his job.”

  “He is. That’s why we all put up with him.” Colin tipped his head. “You look tired. That crack-of-dawn chauffeur gig must be catching up with you. Any new leads?”

  “No.”

  “You pulled a tough one for your first case. But you did meet Eve.” The corners of Colin’s lips rose.

  Brent jammed his hand in his pocket. How was he supposed to respond to that loaded comment? Yes, he was glad he’d met her—but despite her confidence that he could be the kind of man she wanted . . . and her assurance she could handle the dangers of his job . . . he was nowhere close to convinced moving forward would be in her best interest.

  “Hey.” Colin’s amusement vanished. “Sorry. I must have read too much into the situation.”

  Why not be honest with his colleague? Colin had opened up to him not long ago—and he could use all the guidance he could get.

  “No, you didn’t. Your take is spot-on. There are just some . . . issues.”

  “Other than the danger-on-the-job one we talked about?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You want my advice? Don’t overthink it or create complications where they don’t exist. If you like the woman, go with your gut. Or, as my wife would more genteelly put it,
follow your heart.” He motioned toward the warehouse. “Let’s do a walk-through.”

  It took Brent a second to switch gears. “Will Hank be okay with that?”

  Colin grinned. “No. But we’ll put on booties and gloves and keep our distance.” He struck off for the building.

  Brent fell in behind him. The crime scene deserved his full attention until they were done with their assessment.

  But after that, he’d have to give Colin’s advice serious deliberation. Eve was sure to bring up the subject again tomorrow over their cold drinks, and he couldn’t keep putting her off.

  In the interim, though, a few prayers for guidance—like a definitive sign from above—wouldn’t hurt. Because with every encounter, her appeal grew . . . and the thought of letting her go was getting harder and harder to stomach.

  Meaning he had to come to a reasoned decision soon, before the left side of his brain shut down.

  An imminent possibility if he continued to fall for the lovely radio personality at his current breakneck pace.

  Life stunk.

  Steve eased his recliner back and stared at the ceiling.

  His broken ankle was aching.

  Meg had cleared out, so there was no one to wait on him.

  His high-priced attorney wasn’t making any guarantees about getting him off the hook, thanks to a stupid nine-year-old witness. The man had already broached the idea of a plea bargain.

  And Candy had dumped him.

  As Friday nights went, this one sucked.

  He didn’t even have much food in the house. A can of soup would have to suffice for dinner—unless he ordered a takeout pizza. That wasn’t—

  The landline began to ring.

  He started to struggle to his feet. Stopped. Why answer? Everyone important had his cell number.

  Sinking back in the chair, he picked up his phone from the table beside him, scrolled through for the pizza joint’s number, and placed his order as the landline went silent.

  Fifteen minutes later, it rang again.

  He ignored it.

  Fifteen minutes after that, as he heaved himself to his feet to answer the door for the pizza delivery, it trilled a third time.

  Weird.

  Someone must really want to talk to him.

  He paid the delivery guy, clumped into the kitchen, and rummaged around in the fridge for a beer. That supply was running low too. He’d have to go to the grocery store tomorrow and restock. That chore wouldn’t be fun with this cast, but—